ARCHIVED: Meanwhile in Ronronne...

"I need some coffee," Susan thought. It was her first day working at the embassy in Ronronne. She was tired, behind, and frustrated. She couldn't get much work done, because all of their computers and electronic equipment weren't compatible with the unusual AC frequency.

The resident technician, Jake was trying to configure a converter, but with no luck. "When are you going to be done?" she moaned through her hands. He didn't hear. He was singing (or trying to sing) "Ave Maria" in a tenor voice. "Jake!" He still didn't hear. She grabbed a pair of wire-cutters and tossed it at his head. "What was that for?" he squawked.
"Stop that!"
"Stop what?"
"That singing, it's obnoxious."
"It helps me work."
"Well it's making it impossible for me. When are you going to finish?"
"I'd finish faster if you'd stop throwing stuff at me."
"Fine. Hurry up." He rolled his eyes and kept working. The lights flickered. "We need to have everything in order for the embassy staff," she said.
"The embassy staff? I thought we were embassy staff."
"I mean the people who are going to occupy the Alunyan embassy in Rethel. They have a Principessa with them."
"A princi-what?"
"A Principessa. She's going to be the assistant military attache. Can you please try to be polite when she's here?"
"I'm not impolite." She smirked at him. "Just get back to work, will you?" He rolled his eyes again. The lights went off. "Alright," Jake said, "just give me a second here. Say, 'Let there be light.'"
"What?"
"Just say it." She groaned. "Let there be light," she said in an annoyed tone. The lights came back on. "That should do it," said Jake. Susan gazed out the window. She saw a motorcade approaching. "O my God! There here! Quick! How do I look?" she asked Jake. "You look smokin'," Jake replied. She glared at him. "Just clean up and make yourself scarce. No! Get Ron! No! Help me unpack these boxes! No! Just get out of here!" He picked up his toolbag and swaggered down the hall to his office.

Tenente Colonnello Namputiri Varughese Markose directed the driver to the curbside. His small staff of three, and the Royal Alunyan Marine security detachment, were seated behind him in the minibus. Three large coaches also pulled to the side of the avenue, caboosed by a military police convoy escort jeep. The two tractor trailers full of the new embassy's equipment would go ahead to the roundabout, then park on the next avenue to the right. They would be called back to the Plembobrian embassy when the staff there was ready to inspect the items inside.

He popped open the passenger door, and his second-in-command slid open the sliding door, as soon as the passenger van came to a halt. The electric motors on the large buses could not be heard, which made the pop and hiss of their released air brakes all the more prominent. The gasoline powered military minibus and the jeep at the back end were not whisper quiet, but they were rugged. He watched in amazement as the civilians scrambled off the coaches, hands gesticulating widely, chatter going a Longoria per Tocca. He shook his head at the excited hubbub.

The newly minted sottotenente, on her first posting, interrupted his gaze. "Sir, our detachment has disembarked and is at the ready." He glanced over at his assembled crew. They were at parade rest, awaiting further instruction. The twelve marines, like his second in command, were smart in their crimson dress uniforms. Capo di 2^a classe Bellini of the navy, Caporal Capo Scelto Olikara of the army, and himself represented the other three branches. He and the sottotenente were the only officers; he ignored the maritime reference in her remarks.

He glanced back at the swelling horde of off-loading passengers -- the embassy personnel and their dependents. "What a clowder cluck," he muttered, the persistent mewing of the Mrao speakers occasionally interrupted by a remark in Italian, or English. "Sottotenente Olivotto, get these people arranged in some sort of order so that we make a more presentable ensemble to the Plembobrians. I'm going to talk with Ambassadors Nascimbene and Pisharody and see how they want things processed." He walked aft towards the limousine behind the last bus.

The Principessa glanced quickly at her checklist, and made a quick decision. Turning about face, she came eye to eye with Maresciallo Ordinario Fratinelli. He called out, "Attenzione!" and the squad smartly came to attention.

"We'll go by the numbers, Marines, zero through five," she stated. "Fratinelli, Ghuritapidam, you will handle the commercial attaches, their staff and dependents. Avitable, Muscone, you have cultural attaches. Sindirapheem, Tamborello, you take Legal. Hall, Fiorella, you take the Information and Communications people. Pagliane, Chiavanni, you handle our own. Kholicuddy, Thalavessi and I will take everyone else. Line up along this sidewalk and call out in order. I want these people in groups, and check with the attaches to make sure people are with the right groups."

"Ma'am, Yes, Ma'am!" the squad replied as one. "You heard the Sottotenente," Fratinelli roared, "Move out!" He saluted the Principessa.

She returned the salute, "Very well. Carry on, Maresciallo." She gathered Primo Caporalmaggiore Kholicuddy and Caporal Thalavessi in her train and proceeded down the line near the rear of the buses.

Soon she could hear her Marines belting out calls for the various embassy staff and their dependents to gather round. Once Pagliane and Chiavanni made their call out, she took a deep breathe and sounded out, "Everyone else, over here!" She knew her trained voice could cut through the cacophony, but the Royal Alunyan Marine Corps looked askance at a lyric coloratura soprano trilling out orders. So she lowered her register and relied upon her diaphragm instead.

Her small clowder was comprised of the three building maintenance technicians, a secretary, an accountant, a receptionist, a gardener, the veterinarian and their families. And, as she soon discovered, two "other" others.

"Sottotenente, we have a situation," Primo Caporalmaggiore Kholicuddy ventured. "We have two extra people." She pointed to a young, long-haired youth about her own age, and a four-year-old girl.

The Principessa frowned, then pleasantly asked the young man, "Who are you?"

"I'm Franco Moscatti. I'm a student," he stammered. "I saw the bus marquee, and it said Embassy of Plembobria, and I was headed that way to get a student visa so I could attend the the Rethel Institute of Performing Arts, so I got on. I didn't know it was a special bus, I swear!

The Principessa considered this. "Alright, you stay with me. I'll see that you get processed for the visa, if I can. Have you got bus fare for a ride back home, or wherever you're going next?"

The lad breathed a sigh of relief. "Of course! I didn't even pay to get on this bus," he gestured at the third coach, "So I've got both bus fares and some extra kibbles. But can't I take this bus back?"

"No," the Principessa replied curtly. "It is for embassy staff only. You'll have to manage on your own. But if I may ask, why RIPA? Are you a musician?"

At that the young fellow laughed. "No, I'm enrolling in their circus school. I've always wanted to be a lion and tiger tamer. I sent them a video of how I trained my house cats to jump through hoops and balance a ball upon their noses, and all sorts of other tricks. You should see my cats -- they are amazing!"

The Sottotenente smiled, "Well, they aren't very big cats now, are they? But I am intrigued, and I would like to see them." She reached into a blouse pocket and pulled out a business card. "Here are my particulars. You can e-mail me a link, or send a DVD."

The young man smiled in a friendly yet calculatingly charming manner, then glanced at the card. His eyes went wide, and he hastily made a clumsy bow. "Your Royal Majesty!" he exclaimed.

Magdalena gently tapped him on the shoulder to urge him to stand up and not make such a fuss. "First off, if you insist on formalities, it is Her Highness Sottotenente Principessa Magdalena. And secondly, His Royal Majesty and Her Royal Majesty are my great uncle King Guglielmo and my first cousin once removed, Queen Junia. I'm just an ordinary Principessa. And I would still like to see that video."

"Of course! Forgive me, Your Highness!" the befuddled lad gasped.

"Are you really a princess?" the four-year-old chimed in.

Principessa Magdalena crouched down to talk face-to-face with the young girl. "Yes, I am, sweetie. And who might you be?"

"Leona," the star-struck little girl replied.

"And do you have a last name, Leona?" the Sottotenente chirpily asked.

"Gatti." She reached out to touch the Principessa on the nose. "A real princess?"

"It's a common surname," Primo Caporalmaggiore Kholicuddy volunteered.

"I know," the Principessa replied. "Yes, a real princess. Leona, do you know your home numbers?" The little girl shook her head up-and-down, indicating no. Without a direction and a distance from the Ronronne city center, it would be difficult to locate the child's parents. "What about a telephone number?" But the young girl indicated that she didn't know that either.

Sottotenente Olivotto thought for the moment, then asked, "Leona, do you have a cat?"

The little girl brightened considerably, "I have two cats! I love them very much!"

"And what are their names?"

"Mirabelle and Mushin-Pushin! Mushin-Pushin likes to push his toy mice under the oven, and then he mews and tries to reach under to get it out! And Mirabelle, she's lazy, she likes to sleep in the sunny spots in the kitchen, and in the dining room, and on my bed," the child rambled on, and on...

Under her breathe, the Principessa gave an order, "Caporal Thalavessi, go to that military police escort vehicle back there and have them call their dispatcher. I want them to call the Royal Alunyan Academy of Veterinary Medicine and run a check for two cats, Mirabelle Gatti and Mushin-Pushin Gatti. The RAAVM maintains a database of all micro-chipped pets, and that includes almost every cat. Have them search by name, and emphasize that both cats are from the same home. Tell them to get me a home number and a telephone number for contacting the cats' guardians."

"Yes, Ma'am," Thalavessi replied, and hurried back. The Principessa continued to talk with the young girl about her cats.

"That was good thinking, Ma'am," Primo Caporalmaggiore Kholicuddy admitted. She thought to herself, This one knows what she is about, unlike some others in her royal family. Among the professionals in the armed forces, postings for the royal family were often viewed as sinecures meant to keep them out of harm's way, or more importantly, to keep the military out of harm's way.

"Thanks, Primo Caporalmaggiore," the Principessa responded. "Now if you would mind our regular party while I take our two interlopers under our wing, if you please." She looked up and saw the two ambassadors and Tenente Colonnello Namputiri enter the Plembobrian embassy. It was time to go inside.

The door swung open. The two ambassadors entered. Ambassador Ronald Clark hurriedly approached them and extended his hand. "Good morning!" he said with that friendly temperament only diplomats are capable of, while shaking their hands. As the rest of the group followed, he stepped backward, nearly tumbling a prodigious stack of boxes. "We're still a bit disoriented, so I hope you'll excuse our clumsiness," he said, blushing a little. "Our clerk, Susan will attend to you. I'll be right in my office if you need anything." He smiled and left.

Susan stood behind her desk, petrified. She never was good with people. "Umm, g-good morning," she stammered, "One moment here, I need to pull up your application." She turned to the computer, fumbled around a bit, and frowned. She picked up the phone, "I need you at the front, Jake." She returned the phone and faced the ambassadors. "My apologies, our printers still aren't working. Our technician will be here..."

"And here he is!" Jake interrupted, as he walked into the room. He had changed into office attire. "Alright Sue, what's li problema." This shoddy impression of an Italian accent almost made Susan cringe. "The printer, it's not working." Jake pressed a button on the side of the printer. The machine whirred into life, and began to print. "Well why didn't you try turning it on?" She sighed. Jake grabbed the page that was ejected onto the tray and examined it. "This is a recipe for meat loaf," he said. The printer started up again. He grabbed the next page. "Here it is." He raised his eyebrows. "These Alunyans don't skimp with the pleasantries." Susan kicked him lightly in the shin, and glared at him. She gestured for him to leave. He didn't get it.

She reviewed the application, did a quick mental head count, and said. "It appears that you one extra staff member."

Ambassador Pisharody and Ambassador Nascimbene appeared stunned. Each turned to look at the other, and immediately accusations and allegations began to fly in the Mrao language, hands gesticulating wildly. Each then turned and began to rapidly do a head count over the multitude still crowding into the small embassy. Tenente Colonnello Namputiri shook his head sadly, gazed up to the Plembobrian embassy clerk and shrugged. He let the chatter and uproar continue for a moment, then gathered a deep breath.

"Sottotenente Olivotto!" he roared, in English. "Front and center!"

The Principessa grew alarmed, grasped the hand of her new four-year-old ward, and shoved aside the young lad who had stowed away on the bus as she bulled her way to where the ambassadors were busily counting in groupings of six. Once at the head of the queue, she dropped the little girl's hand and saluted, "Tenente Colonnello, Sottotenente Olivotto reporting, sir!"

The Royal Alunyan Air Force Lieutenant Colonel returned the salute, looked briefly at the young girl standing next to the sublieutenant, and watched bemused as a long-haired youth took up a respectful station behind the Marine officer. Probably dependents who got lost in the crowd, he thought to himself, Olivotto can straighten that out later. He smiled, and politely asked, "Sottotenente, how many people have we brought today for visas?"

Magdalena released her breathe. No trouble at all, then. She glanced at her clipboard, then reported, "Three-five-four, sir. Two ambassadors, one-zero-one staff, two-five-one dependents. And one stow-away who also came for a visa -- a student visa."

Namputiri glanced over the Principessa's shoulder at the young lad, who now looked remarkably sheepish.

"I swear," the young man began, "I didn't mean..." The lieutenant colonel cut him off with a wave of his hand and returned his attention to Olivotto. "Sottotenente," he began gently, "Would you be so kind as to provide those headcounts again, but in the decimal form, so that the clerk here," as he gestured at Susan, "may check our headcount?"

Magdalena blushed deeply. She knew that in foreign diplomacy matters should be conducted in French or English for the ease of all. Furthermore, it was a standing rule to convert to decimal in the presence of foreigners as a matter of etiquette. She felt deeply chastised, but her voice did not betray her. "Sir, we have one hundred forty-two people in total. We have two ambassadors and thirty-seven staff for diplomatic visas, and one hundred three dependents for residency visas. All are accounted for, sir."

She glanced at the clipboard again, and leafing through the sheaf of papers, noticed a slight discrepancy on the letter of introduction. "Tenente Colonello," she hesitated, "the letter of credence indicates thirty-eight staff." She paused and briefly added the sums, then began again, "But it breaks down to thirty-seven, and thirty-seven staff are here for the diplomatic visas." She looked up expectantly at the commanding officer.

Ambassador Nascimbene looked over at the sublieutenant, and asked, "Your Highness, may I see that please?" Her counterpart, Ambassador Pisharody now seemed equally interested. Magdalena was appalled at the breach of military protocol in address, but handed over the clipboard to the ambassador. She could see Namputiri did not approve of the breach either, but he was not going to correct the ambassador.

Giada Nascimbene looked over the letter of credence and quckly added the sums herself. Clearly there was a mismatch, and that sort of accounting error cropped up frequently enough when converting from senary to decimal. She handed the clipboard to Pisharoddy, then proceeded to address the Plembobrian embassy clerk.

"My dear," she confided, "We do seem to have made a mess of the numbers. Now, as to introductions, may I introduce my colleague Ambassador Gianpierro Pisharoddy of the Constitutional Monarchy of Alunya? The officer here," she gestured at the Air Force lieutenant colonel, "is Tenente Colonnello Namputiri Varughese Markose of the Royal Alunyan Air Force, who serves as our military attache, and this is Her Highness Sottotenente Principessa Magdalena Isabella Giulietta Amadea Teodora of the House of Olivotto, our assistant military attache."

The ambassador gathered her breathe again. "I am, of course, Ambassador Giada Nascimbene of the Kingdom of Alunya. I beg your pardon for not introducing Her Highness's companions, but their names escape me at the moment. And you, madame, to whom do we have the pleasure of addressing ourselves today?"

The ambassador thought privately to herself, This is going to take the day, and Pisharody's day too. She had doubts that the Plembobrians even had the staff at the moment to inspect the non-sensitive equipment in the tractor-trailers, and that it might be necessary to re-schedule that inspection. Clearly every qualified staffer would likely be needed to process the plethora of visa applications and other paperwork.

"Susan Sallis," she responded timidly. "This is our technician, Jake Manning." Jake waved at them. He appeared to be enjoying this. "Am I to understand that this gentleman is not accompanying your party?" she asked, gesturing toward Franco. He nodded. "Will everyone who isn't a staff member please move to the back of room?" she yelled, gaining her confidence. "Jake, can you find me their diplomatic visas?" He walked to the stack of boxes that Ambassador Clark had nearly knocked over, opened the one on top, and started looking through it. He worked his way to the bottom box. Inside he found a large yellow envelope with a label that read:

MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS
OFFICIAL BUSINESS
DO NOT BEND​

He opened the envelope and peered inside. "Here they are!" he exclaimed swaggering back to the desk. They shouldn't have been in there, Susan thought, If they were stolen I'd get blamed for it. She grabbed the envelope, empty its contents onto her desk, and counted them. Oh good. They're all here. "Please distribute these among your colleagues," she said to ambassador Nascimbene, handing her the stack of cards. "You'll need to bear these at your point of entry, along with any credentials you have from your own governments."

"I'll need a list to of all of your dependents to fax to the Customs Division, as well as declarations for the equipment that we'll need to inspect. Is there anything else you need to bring to my attention?"

Ambassador Nascimbene thanked Ms. Wallis, and together with Ambassador Pisharody they divided the diplomatic visas among their respective staffs. Giada then turned her attention to the clerk to go over some additional issues.

"Yes, Ms. Wallis, there are some concerns that have been shared with me," Nascimbene said. "They relate to a variety of domestic issues. If you would happen to have a list of preferred realtors, veterinarians and hairdressers in the vicinity of our new embassy in Rethel, that would be a great help, and I would be pleased to distribute it among our staff."

The ambassador held up her hand, "I know -- we already have our own veterinarian on staff. However, in the event of an emergency at a household, it would be quite useful to have the names, addresses and telephone numbers of other vets nearby."

"And along those lines, we will need the particulars on how to bring pets into the Kingdom of Plembobria," Giada stated. "In the aggregate we have sixty-eight cats and," she leaned conspiratorially towards Susan, "one sight hound, a Stoffghan, which owns a pleasantly plump secretary who dotes a bit too much on the poor beast, if you catch my drift. I hate to cast aspersions, but she really does come across as one of those crazy dog ladies."

The ambassador stood back, then continued, "And of course we have, somewhere in all this paperwork we brought with us, a list of items to be considered as travelling in the diplomatic pouch. You know the sort of stuff -- the secure servers, the encoding equipment, and other internal security and communications equipment common to embassies everywhere. I believe it also includes the small arms accompanying the security detachment, but our military attache should be able to resolve any matters in that regard."

"There are of course the other routine matters that your staff may be able to answer, concerning the start of the school year, transferring to new schools, childcare, medical services, opportunities for employment for some of our dependents, and establishing service accounts for mains electricity, water, sewage, heating and air conditioning, natural gas, cable and telecommunications, garbage disposal and recycling and the like, " Nascimbene concluded.

The Principessa tenuously and quietly cleared her throat.

"Oh yes," added Giada brightly. "It has come to my attention that, among our staff, there are some who may wish to obtain student visas to further their educations in addition to their diplomatic visas, and that the issue may be a matter of great sensitivity for some, requiring discretion and privacy. I'm confident the parties in question will make this desire known to your staff, but if you could alert them to these possibilities, it would be greatly appreciated."

Ambassador Nascimbene winked at the Marine officer, and smiled at Ms. Wallis.

The young lad, Franco Moscatti, having observed the body language of his circus-trained cats over the years, could not fail to observe this exchange with interest. He leaned forward towards Magdalena's right ear and whispered, sotto voce, "Perhaps, Your Highness, we'll meet again in Lion-Taming 101?" he smirked.

"I doubt it," the Principessa hissed.

Just then, as the two Ambassadors walked out to process the visas, (OOC: I think that's what's going on, or something along those lines)
leaving the Principessa alone in the room sitting on a gilded chair padded with a dusty yet shiny scarlet velvet, a young man with blue eyes and black hair walked in, looking at the Principessa.

She smiled and exclaimed "Where have you been? They're still processing my visa."

The young man, David Sirus, a childhood friend of the Principessa, smiles and says cheerfully, "I had mine completely processed over in Balamb. The embassy recently got new staff so processing rates are skyrocketing in speed!"

"Well that's alright, atleast we're both going to be heading to the Alsobrook Conservatory. I mean, come on, they wouldn't refuse us, right?"

"I hope not." the Principessa snorted angrily. One could tell she wasn't happy about Franco Moscatti's flirtiness earlier, especially when she had said "I doubt it".

Just then, the two Ambassadors came in with smiles on their faces and a couple of stamped visas. The two friends were off to Plembobria.

"Here you are!" said Ambassador Nascimbene. "Hope you have fun in Plembobria, Your Highness!"

The Principessa nodded.

"Let's go, eh, Your Highness?" said David.

"Oh, stop it, you're my friend!" said the Principessa.

"I know, but it's kind." said David. The Principessa giggled.

The two friends headed off to the airport. From there, it was off to Plembobria and the Conservatory.

"I can't wait to meet the King of Plembobria. I heard he's studying there." the Principessa exclaimed rather vehemently and eagerly.

Just then, as the two friends entered the doors of Ronronne International Airport, a young man followed, admittedly far behind so David and Principessa Magdalena didn't see him.

His name was Franco Moscatti.

(OOC: let me know what you think about this idea in the planning thread. I decided to give it a test run here, it looks great!)

Syrixia:

Just then, as the two Ambassadors walked out to process the visas, (OOC: I think that's what's going on, or something along those lines)
leaving the Principessa alone in the room sitting on a gilded chair padded with a dusty yet shiny scarlet velvet, a young man with blue eyes and black hair walked in, looking at the Principessa.

She smiled and exclaimed "Where have you been? They're still processing my visa."

The young man, David Sirus, a childhood friend of the Principessa, smiles and says cheerfully, "I had mine completely processed over in Balamb. The embassy recently got new staff so processing rates are skyrocketing in speed!"

"Well that's alright, atleast we're both going to be heading to the Alsobrook Conservatory. I mean, come on, they wouldn't refuse us, right?"

"I hope not." the Principessa snorted angrily. One could tell she wasn't happy about Franco Moscatti's flirtiness earlier, especially when she had said "I doubt it".

Just then, the two Ambassadors came in with smiles on their faces and a couple of stamped visas. The two friends were off to Plembobria.

"Here you are!" said Ambassador Nascimbene. "Hope you have fun in Plembobria, Your Highness!"

The Principessa nodded.

"Let's go, eh, Your Highness?" said David.

"Oh, stop it, you're my friend!" said the Principessa.

"I know, but it's kind." said David. The Principessa giggled.

The two friends headed off to the airport. From there, it was off to Plembobria and the Conservatory.

"I can't wait to meet the King of Plembobria. I heard he's studying there." the Principessa exclaimed rather vehemently and eagerly.

Just then, as the two friends entered the doors of Ronronne International Airport, a young man followed, admittedly far behind so David and Principessa Magdalena didn't see him.

His name was Franco Moscatti.

(OOC: let me know what you think about this idea in the planning thread. I decided to give it a test run here, it looks great!)

Click to expand...

Alunya has absolute control over the Principessa. No one else can control her, or decide who her childhood friends are. Don't control other people's characters. You clearly do not understand what is going on in this thread. This thread really only exists for a scene between me and Alunya. Please stop God-Modding.

Alright. Just giving the characters a test run.

Besides, you just gave me a brilliant idea for a new roleplay!

Susan cleared her throat. "That's 'Sallis' with an 'S'. My initials are 'SOS'. I was mocked mercilessly at... Nevermind." She shuffled with some papers on her desk. What does she think I am, a concierge? Susan thought, I thought there were only crazy cat ladies. She decided to compile the requested information. If she did well with this, she might get a promotion, and get eventually her dream job as ambassador to McMasterdonia. "It'll take some time, but I think I can get you what you need," she told the ambassador.

She picked up the phone again, and muttered some unintelligible words into it. A few moments passed. Two uniformed men arrived at the desk. Susan came out from behind the desk and stood next to them. "These are sergeants Masum and Robertson." They saluted the ambassadors. "They will be in charge of inspecting your equipment. They'll need the list, of course."

She returned to her seat. "Student visas are processed by our Education Ministry. Keep in mind that the children among you will not need them to attend primary or secondary school. However, you'll need one to attend a college or university, even if you have any other kind of visa. To apply for one you'll need to meet with our education attache." She turned to Franco, "How may I help you, Sir."

"Oh my! I beg your forgiveness, Miss Sallis," exclaimed Ambassador Nascimbene. "I certainly didn't intend to mangle your surname." She fished around in her briefcase, and produced an inventory of items in the trucks parked on a neighboring street. She surrendered the list to Sergeant Masum.

At that moment Caporal Thalavessi joined the party at the head of the queue. "Sottotenente, I have the information you have requested," he said, saluting. He handed her a card. The Principessa returned his salute, took the card, and fished out her cell phone. She proceeded to dial, and listened to the line ring.

Franco Moscatti took the opportunity to address the clerk. "I'm Franco Moscatti, and I'm here to apply for a student visa for the Rethel Institute of Performing Arts," he stated. "So I would like to see the educational attache, please."

The Principessa said, "Wait one, please," and covered her phone. She turned to Ms. Sallis and said, "Mister Moscatti is presently in my custody, and I'll escort him to whatever office you'll designate, if I may have a moment though." Without waiting for a reply, she returned to her phone conversation.

"Yes, Missus Gatti?" Magdalena asked. "My name is Her Highness Sottotenente Principessa Magdalena Olivotto of the..." She paused, "Yes, ma'am, a Principessa. As I was saying..." and paused again. "Yes, ma'am. Principessa Magdalena -- but I'm calling on behalf..."

The Principessa rolled her eyes. "Ma'am, I'm calling as an officer of the Royal Marines. I have your daughter with me..."

"Ma'am, please, I'm just as honored to speak with you, if I may," the Sottotenente tried once more. "As I was saying, I have your daughter Leona with me." She reflected that she really should have let Thalavessi or Kholicuddy make the call.

"Missus Gatti, your daughter got on our bus," she interrupted, "and I am watching over her now at the Embassy of Plembobria." Another pause, then "No ma'am, I didn't know that. She must have wandered out of the day care at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Our bus will be returning there. I can either keep her with me until we return to meet up with you there, or you can come here to get her." She listened some more.

"It will be no trouble at all," the Principessa concluded. "Your office number?" she scribbled hastily. "We'll meet you at your office when we get back. And feel free to call if you change your mind."

Magdalena turned to her four-year-old ward and said, "Your mother, Leona, says she'll meet us back at her office. Do you go to the daycare there?"

The little girl thoughtfully shook her head from side to side, indicating the affirmative.

"In the meantime," the Sottotenente concluded, "We principessas are to stick together, or so says your mom."

"Am I a Principessa too?" Leona brightened.

"Of course!" Magdalena laughed. "In her heart, every young girl is a principessa, and woe to the boys who forget that!"

With that, she turned back to Miss Sallis and said, "Forgive my manners, but urgency dictated no other course," she intoned. "If you could point out the educational attache, I will escort Mister Moscatti to his or her office."

"How very convenient!" Franco sighed, rolling his eyes. He winked at Ms. Sallis.

Ambassador Pisharody, having been briefly pestered by one of the dependents, an older, portly gentleman, interjected. "Dottore Marucci informs me that he would also like to speak with the educational attache, if he may. He wishes to inquire about employment opportunities in Rethel as a professor of Ancient History, if that might be possible. His wife is the Constitutional Monarchy's cultural attache, and as a result of her posting, he now finds himself eminently available."

Ambassador Pisharody, the portly gentleman, the long-haired youth, a four-year-old girl and the Principessa all looked expectantly to Ms. Sallis.

OOC: My sincerest apologies for the God-mod-nod. I jut didn't want to end my post so quickly, in order to get a response. But I assure you, when I said Franco nodded, I meant that he shook his head back and forth, and that was understood.

I didn't think anyone could be just like Jake, Susan thought. "The educational attache's office is on the second floor. The elevator isn't working yet, so you'll have to take the stairs. It's the third door on the left," she said. That is, if they understand left here.

Jake, who seemed to be fed-up with tinkering with a padlock, approached the Principessa and said, "If it would please your highness, I would be delighted to show you to the attache's office." As she returned to here desk, Susan grabbed the technician by the shoulder, "If you do anything stupid," she whispered threateningly into his ear, "I swear, I will kill you with my bare hands." She release him. He turned to the Principessa, "This way, your highness," he said, with a slightly embarrassed smile.

Meanwhile, in the Educational Attache's office, Joseph Carton, the Educational Attache, and his assistant, Kyle were unpacking boxes of forms and other paperwork over freshly brewed coffee. "This stuff," Kyle said, "is what makes the world go round."
"Don't give to anyone else until we find some more," his boss replied, with a devious smile, "The whole staff's been scavenging the place looking for it. If they find out we've got it, they'll be none left for us!" Joseph and his assistant knocked their mugs together, as if they were giving a toast. "Don't you think we ought to let Susan have some?" Kyle asked.
"I suppose. That poor girl works too hard."
"Well, she's ambitious."
"That she is, and rightfully so. She grew up on the poor side of Cherpis City. I remember when she was just seven years old. She was a shy little one, but she was the best student in my class." Joseph sighed. "I guess I'm getting pretty old."
"Well you're still the best at office-chair racing."
They chuckled. Kyle sat up. "Hey! isn't the Alunyan embassy staff coming today?"
"I think they're already here."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Relax. Why would they come in here? Just sit down. Enjoy your coffee."
"I guess your right," Kyle said as he returned to his previous slumping position, with his feet on his desk.

After the first flight of stairs, Jake Manning turned to his left to proceed down the hallway towards Mr. Carton's office. Dottore Marucci turned right to continue up the stairs whilst the more observant Ambassador Pisharody, watching the technician, shrugged his shoulders and turned left to follow. The Principessa and Leona Gatti, unsure of which gentleman to trail, instead stopped at the landing. And Frank Moscatti. the long-haired youth entranced by the intricately inlaid marble in the runners, ran smack into Magdalena's backside.

Full of fury, the Sottotenente turned around and glared at him.

"I'm sorry," he sputtered, red-faced. "I was watching the steps."

"When you attend the Rethel Institute for Pains in the Arse," she hissed, "You should seriously consider taking some courses in clowning. It would improve your social graces considerably."

"Well, I was just looking at this stonework here in the stairs," he protested, seemingly unaware of the insult. "Why did you stop?"

The Principessa rolled her eyes, while Leona perceptibly asked, "Are you mad at him?"

Magdalena first addressed the little girl, "He's a slooow cow," she replied. "I'm not mad, just annoyed."

Then she turned to Frank. "Mister Moscatti, this embassy formerly was the Royal Archives for Bezoar Stones. Like many royal buildings, it is well furbished, and the inlay that you have so ardently admired is nothing out of the ordinary. Please pay attention to what you are doing."

"Well, Your Super-Duper Holier-Than-Thou Mighty Power-Ranger Principessa Magdalena of the Million Names from the House of Olivotto," Frank snarkily replied, "Why did you stop?"

At that moment, Dottore Marucci returned from his initial sojourn of another half-flight of stairs to hear the Principessa quip, "I will have you know that Power-Ranger emphatically is not a rank within the Royal Alunyan Marine Corps."

The good Dottore thought that rather obvious, and turned his attention down the hall, where Ambassador Pisharody had just caught up with the Plembobrian technician, three doors ahead, on the left. The technician was knocking on the door.

Interjecting, he asked the Sottotenente, "Why is the Ambassador going down the hall on the first floor? Isn't the Educational Attache up above on the second floor?"

It dawned on the Principessa that the Plembobrians considered the first floor to be what Alunyans would call the zeroeth floor, akin to the European ground floor. "Professore," she answered, "I think the Plembobrians count a bit differently, and that this is their second floor."

"Oh," Frank muttered, "Now I understand why you stopped!"

The four of them proceeded down the hall just in time to hear Jake Manning introduce Ambassador Pisharody to whomever was inside.

And then it dawned on Moscatti that he had been insulted by Her Highness. "Wait a minute! You must be applying to the Association of Car Parking Attendants," he said, referring to the prestigious Alsobrook Conservatory of Performing Arts.

"Slooow cow," the Principessa muttered.

"Slooow cow," little Leona parroted, sticking her tongue out at Frank.

"I would be happy to tell you what else I've so ardently admired going up those steps," Frank quietly whispered to himself, and then stuck his tongue out at the little girl.

The Principessa heard him, however, and secretly smiled. She resisted the temptation to give a hint of an Egyptian hip drop; if nothing else, the dignity of the Royal Alunyan Marine Corps uniform dictated decorum.

As the Education attache and his assistant bantered, a knock was heard at the door. Kyle gulped down his coffee and gently tossed his mug into a nearby open box. Joseph opened the door. "Can I help you, Jake?" he asked. The technician replied, "This is ambassador Pisharody of the Kingdom of Alunya."

"Good day, Ambassador."

"Why would they come in here?" his assistant said in a high-pitched, mimicking tone. "This is my assistant, Kyle Mathis," Joe said, as he gestured toward his assistant.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir."

As they were exchanging greetings, Dotore Mattucci, the Principessa, Franco Moscatti, and Leona Gatti shuffled into the small office. The attache and his assistant greeted them individually, except for Leona, whom they didn't notice. Joseph turned back to the Alunyan ambassador, "Now may I ask what brings you all into my office?"


Meanwhile, in the front room, Susan was working vigorously at her computer. She finished and printed the list she had made. She quickly examined it, and handed it to ambassador Nascimbene. "Most realtors' offices are located in the Financial District in the North quadrant. Hairdressers are in the Fashion and Style District in the East quadrant. Veterinarians are in the South quadrant. There is also housing in the South quadrant near the State District specifically reserved for embassy staff and their families. Some of these things may seem quite far from we're you'll likely be staying, but Rethel is highly organized."

Upstairs, in the Educational Attache's Office

The pleasantries exchanged, Ambassador Pisharody excused himself, leaving Dottore Marucci, Franco Moscatti, the Principessa, and of course, little Leona Gatti with Mr. Carton and his assistant Mr. Mathis.

"Well," Dottore Marucci started, clearing his throat, "I am wondering if you have any contacts at local universities in Rethel that might," he hesitated, "be of use in locating suitable employment for a full professor of Ancient History." He thumbed through his man-purse, continuing, "My specialization is within Alunyan history, of course, with particular emphasis on the Amber Punitive Expeditions, the Felistine Pentopolis, up to the Return and founding of New Isqalunya, which, as you are no doubt aware, is now shortened to Alunya."

He held out six copies of his curriculum vita, and took in the blank stares across from him.

"Ah, yes," he finally resumed. "I mean, by that, the terrible expeditions of the Sea People, the settling of Canaan by the iron-age Philistines in the Five Cities, the death of Uliat at the hands of Elhanan which is paralleled in the fable of Goliath and David, and the return of the Sea People to found New Ashkelon, now Alunya. That would be about 1250 to 700 B.C."

The Principessa smiled at the exchange. She recalled that in ancient times the locals in the eastern Mediterranean were as equally enamored of the multi-colored robes the Alunyans wore as with their rugged (and inexpensive) iron weapons. It still seemed that others were not taught that the secret in the cloth lay not with the dyes, but with the knots. For what looked ragged and haphazard was in fact an intricate way of writing by means of weaving and knitting, only poorly imitated by the quipu of the Andes centuries later. The good Dottore was going to have his hands full explaining ancient history to students whose concept of ancient was only a century or two and not a dozen millennia.

She decided to break the mounting tension. "Excuse me," she interjected, "Mr. Moscatti here would like to obtain a student visa to attend the Rethel Institute of Performing Arts."

"And I would like to make an inquiry of my own," she asserted brightly. She gripped Leona's hand to bring her front and center, and nudged Franco with an elbow.

"Ow," he said, cocking his head sideways, then picking up the Principessa's icy stare. "I mean, oh, yes," he stammered. "I would like to obtain a student visa, as I will be studying Lion Taming in the Circus Department." He fumbled though his papers, seeking out the letter of acceptance as a freshman in the program.

Magdalena alternated her gaze between the older Mr. Carton and his younger assistant Kyle Mathis. Leona watched the two men befuddled by the good Dotorre's soliloquy, then turned her face upward and said to the Principessa, "Slooow cows."

The Sottotenente blushed, then lamely tendered, "And if you know of a good diplomatic training program, I know of a young child in need of it!" She squeezed Leona's hand.

---

Downstairs, in the main lobby

Giadia Nascimbene pulled her reading glasses out of a breast pocket, and perused the information Miss Sallis had provided. She pursed her lips at the thought of telling the families accompanying the embassy staff that the places they were interested in where not convenient to their future homes. Clearly Rethel was a place that required automobiles to function. She glanced above the rim of her glasses at the clerk.

"Why, this is splendid!" she exclaimed. "Everyone will be so pleased to see that there is a plethora of choices to shop from!" She leaned towards Ms. Sallis, confiding, "You know how it is -- you just can't find that right dress in the first store. It will be so convenient to just walk through the fashion district, shopping at will. Not that the husbands will appreciate it, of course."

She glanced at the map again, and noticed the lack of subways. It will be quite the culture shock for some, she thought. We're so used to our inner courtyards, the pedestrian entrances above ground level on the first floor, and the convenience of neighborhood shopping while remaining close to home, and our cats. She was concerned about how few in her party knew how to drive a car; they were expensive, difficult to park, and not practical in the congested confines of Alunyan cities.

"If I might ask one more small favor, please," Giada added. "Would you happen to have available a driver's manual, for operating an automobile on the streets of Rethel, and how the typical foreigner may apply for a driving license?"

She hoped her questions did not irk the clerk, who seemed very helpful indeed. She made a mental note to commend Ms. Sallis to Ambassador Clark at the next available opportunity. A good word might ease things through -- especially given some of the extravagant items loaded on the truck for the new embassy's furnishing. The sooner those trailer doors were sealed under a customs wax, the better!

In the education attache's office

Kyle snorted, "You mean the Rethel Industrial Pens Association?" Joseph chuckled as he took one of the copies of Mr. Matucci's curriculum vitae. "Don't bother with him. His mother is on ACPA's board of trustees." He took the letter from Mr. Moscatti, put on his glasses, and sat down at his desk. "Well young man, you have quite an experience ahead of you. It's not easy to get into a school like RIPA."

"Yeah, like getting into a janitor school."

"Don't worry, Mr. Moscatti, to get into Alsobrook's lion taming program, you must place your head directly into a lion's mouth, and leave it there for ten minutes. Survive that, and you're in. In order to apply for a student visa, you'll need to fill out an ME-00248 form. Then you'll need to be interviewed by the education attache. It's your lucky day, because that's me, and it isn't lunchtime yet. Now Kyle, would you be so kind as to find one of those forms for me, so we can get started?" His assistant began looking through a nearby box of papers. He didn't find it in there, so he lifted it to move it out of the way. As he was lifting it, he stepped backward, caught his foot in another box. He lost his balance, and tumbled onto his back. The box's contents were scattered all over the room. His head landed right at little Leona's feet. "Hey there, sweetie," Kyle said sheepishly, as she peered down at him.

"Are you okay?" his boss asked.

"If you have some liniment, I'd like to put it on my dignity."

"All the forms are on the computer," said Jake, who had been rather silent the entire time. "All you have to do is print them out."

"Really now?" The education attache asked, "Why didn't you tell us that earlier?"

"It's in the handbook."

"I would have read the handbook if I could find it. Now come help with this."

"Wait! Found one!" Kyle said as he stood up. "Here you go, Mr. Moscatti." He reached into his pocket and produced a pen. "Go ahead and fill this out while I clean up this mess." As he started to collect and sort all of the documents that were in the box, Joseph rose and said, "Didn't your highness say you had a special request?"

In the main lobby

Susan was rather dumbfounded by the question. She wasn't from Rethel, and each province issued its own driver's licenses. "One moment please." She turned back to her computer, opened a browser and searched, "obtain driver's license in Rethel." She skimmed the results and turned back to the ambassador. "Driver's licenses are issued by the Capital Transportation Department. They have offices all over the city. She grabbed a blank piece of paper and scrawled an address onto it. "This is the address of the one nearest to your embassy," she said, as she handed it to Giadia Nascimbene.

The Sottotenente leaned over little Leona and whispered at the elder gentleman. "I, too, would like to acquire a student visa," Magdalena started, "But unlike Mr. Moscatti, I have no letter of acceptance yet. In fact, that is rather the problem."

She sighed, glancing sideways at the lad who, thankfully seemed intent on filling out his form. She turned back to the educational attache. "My situation is a bit more delicate. It is expected that I should receive the best education which the Constitutional Monarchy and Kingdom of Alunya can make available to me, and which I can master to the best of my abilities, as is expected of all members of the Royal family," she confided. "And I have done so faithfully, attaining a degree in Music from the University of Santa Catalina, as you may know."

She motioned Mr. Carton to lean a bit closer, and when he did, she continued. "But I want more. USC is excellent, but I really love to play the piano and compose, and I've reached the end of my rope here. I can't improve here anymore simply because what my country has to offer me in terms of instruction is insufficient."

She searched his eyes, her own set in fierce determination.

"I intend to study at the Alsobrook Conservatory of Performing Arts."

With that, she assumed the command posture of a Royal Alunyan Marine Officer. "I expect my family will not be pleased with my decision. And to forestall any difficulties, I would like to inquire as to whether or not I might be able to submit my application to that institution through your office."

"I am hoping you can assist me in bypassing the local mails. The last thing I need is some mail clerk associating my return address with the graduate admissions office of the Alsobrook, and tattling to the tabloids. If I could submit my packet by your diplomatic pouch, to be deposited in the Plembobrian mails once it arrives in Rethel, that would be a very kind and well appreciated service."

She watched the attache carefully, and squeezed Leona's hand.

"I knew it," muttered Frank Moscatti, not daring to look up from his own ME-00248.

"Hmmm. Return address." Joseph said thoughtfully, stroking his graying beard. The term "return address" wasn't very familiar to Plembobrians. Mail which didn't reach its destination was simply discarded. "Well I'm afraid we don't have access to the diplomatic pouches. We work for the Education Ministry." He stared blankly at the Principessa for a few seconds, then his face lit up. "Kyle? Do you think your mother could help us with this?" "I think I'll giver her a call!" the assistant replied. He took out his cellphone, and dialed his mother's number. She answered. No one else could hear her.

"Hello mom. Yes. No I can't. It's about the Conservatory. No. I have someone who would like to apply. She can't. No. No. It's because she's royalty. It would be impolitic to..."

He looked at his phone. His mother had hung up on him. "So?" his boss looked at him expectantly. "It is not the custom of this institution to accept people based solely on their status!" Kyle said, mimicking a woman's voice. "Do you think we could simply submit the ME-00048 without an admission number?"

"No, that would be against protocol."

Jake, who up to now had been deeply enamored with the novel mechanics of the humble stapler, looked up. "We could fax it over the scrambled diplomatic channel." Both Kyle and Joseph glared at him.

"Again, why didn't you bring this up earlier?" Kyle asked. Jake shrugged. "May I see the application?" Jake asked the Principessa.