Formation of WEST

Ciarán Ó Branagáin (Ciarán Brannagan) was a fourty year old, established man in Talamh Dairian society and the nations top diplomat. The face of most negotiations for the Republic. He was a rather average looking man, or rather, the average looking Talamh Dairian. With short, brown hair and green eyes. His skin was oddly tan, though that may be due to his travels to the Western continents - which happened often - he showed up to the Imperial Palace wearing an expensive suit and a gold watch, probably a reference to his nations new found wealth - or rather - growing economy.

He made his way to the delegation are with haste, adjusted his tie before he entered, then took a seat quietly at his assigned seat. Waiting patiently.

President Carter was warned not to attend, several people wishing he'd allow one of his political delegates to attend, but he insisted he would. Carter was a well groomed man, he had a very neatly cut and trimmed beard, his hair a relatively short length, with a simplistic gray color, synonymous with ageing. He appeared wise and kind, and yet, brutal when needed. He represented both Iranistania and Istanvania, or the Coalition forces, and hurried himself off to the capital sharp like. He entered, his guards dismissed by the door, nodding politely to both delegates already there, before sliding himself into his seat.

 Arrival

  The familiar, oddly warm sound of the operators cue rung out aboard the jet, stirring the sleeping Grand Vizier (Minister)Osman Kaus awake. "We are now flying over the Imperial Federation of United Cubonia. Prepare for landing in... two hours." The announcement ended as abruptly as it started, and Osman's movie, displayed on a massive floor to ceiling television that dominated the dividing wall, resumed playing, no sound coming from the speaker. He looked to the side, nodding at the cloaked face of his personal guard, Khamza, who rested his elbows on his legs, turned towards the television on his cushioned leather chair, one of three in the massive space that consisted of the luxurious airborne living room of the Imperial Majesty's X-07, one of a fleet of the Empire's custom built diplomatic flying palaces.

    The X-07 was, from the outside, a massive vessel, about 1.5 times the average wingspan of any other airliner in the skies, built by Apex Industries, in the Frankish Republic. Two red stripes were painted across the white body, and an image of a three headed eagle, painted black and gold, was emblazoned on the tail. Hidden slots concealed several self-defenses mechanisms normally mounted upon military craft, all state of the art instruments typically reserved for heads of state, for, in almost all respects, the Grand Vizier was a head of state. 

    A small excerpt of the brass-heavy, deep bass of the Imperial anthem would ring out, shaking the seats a little bit, before the pilot again came on the intercom. "We're now approaching the airport of Mistus. Passengers, please fasten your seatbelts. Landing crews, prepare for touchdown." Osman would straighten his back, letting his chair drift back slowly to the upright position. He'd fasten his seatbelt, and secure his chair to the forward position, and close his eyes as the plane came to a smooth landing on the runway, cleanly taxiing over to a stop beside a long line of elegant, well polished black cars in the 1950s style with tinted windows. The cargo doors of the airliner would slowly unfold from underneath the plane's tail as the engines were cut.

    The doors on the black cars flew open almost unanimously, tanned men in black suits, many wearing sunglasses and, strangely so, many with swords strapped to their sides, stood up and to attention, well polished black dress boots clicking like music as the black, hobnailed jackboots of the ceremonial Sipahi (Imperial Guard Cavalry) uniform crested the top of the cargo ramp. Men in blood red, knee length tunics, gold buttoned and epauletted, with billowy white pants and tall, black felt caps disembarked, shouldering black rifles, ceremonial curved daggers strapped to their chests, assembling at the doors as Osman Kaus strode downwards, in a fine grey suit, accompanied by several other suited dignitaries, to the tune of the national anthem, played from the speakers of the plane, where normally would be a brass corps in the typical processions. The Siphais took seats in the rear of each car in the convoy, and the suited men took their own seats at each drivers wheel. The dignitaries took the passengers seats, and the remaining suited men watched as one by one, the cars peeled off in the direction of the palace.


The Palace

    The convoy slowed to a stop in front of the palace, the Sipahis disembarking and running to their positions along the staircase before the cars had even ground to a complete halt. Clicking their heels, jackboots likely scraping a storm out of any tilework, they held their heads up high as the suited men disembarked to open the doors for the dignitaries, who strode behind the Grand Vizier, slowly walking up the steps to the doors. Most of the Siphais peeled off from the group, entering the cars to replace a few of the suited men, driving off as the men they replaced, translators, jogged up the steps. Only about ten Sipahis remained, clearing the way and opening the door for the Grand Vizier, the dignitaries, and the translators as they walked through.

    Khartumians were a traditional folk, and often, rather rude and uppish, many found. The soldiers held little regard for the servants of the palace as they cleared a path, easily making way through the busy palace to the delegation, where they stood aside by the door to the delegation room, only one guard opening the door and with a bow, quickly flourishing out of the room, as the Grand Vizier, two delegates, and a rather thin looking translator entered, the others having split up to attend other meetings.


    The Grand Vizier smiled warmly as he took his seat, nodding at the currently assembled delegates.

 

// Everyone's welcome to participate. 

Arrival at Airport

A classic Red and Yellow coloured 1970s luxury plane lands at the airport, it's pilot already contacting the tower to land.
The 3rd Princess of Biendiosa Bellalei Rye clings onto the armrests, holding her breath as the plane lands.
She exhales, looking out of the window as the plane taxis to a clear area.
"My lady, are you alright?" a voice mutters to her right.
She turns and sighs, looking at her close friend Sarah, one of her delegates.
"I'm fine... It's a place I've never been to before that is so big."
Sarah nods and unbuckles her seatbelt, the plane having stopped and everyone was now allowed to get off.
The whole diplomatic party exited the plane.
The party consisted of Princess Bellalei Rye, Delegate Sarah Orville, Head Chief Guard of the Third Princess Gulio Advanci, 2 royal translators, and five of her personal guards. All amounting to ten people.
They all loaded into 2 common but secretly armoured grey cars and drove off, leaving the planes to go into hangers set by the airport.

Arrival to the palace

As the cars drove through the streets, the princess and the delegate both peered out of the tinted windows, their eyes going over the people and buildings in the area.
The cars start to approach to designated building.
As the cars approach, the head Chief Guard spies the various 'guards' of the various nations.
"Let's go around the building once, this place gives me a bad feeling." 
The cars go around the building once, then twice, before the chief guard finally tells them it's okay.
The cars park and the guards check their weaponry and equipment.
Their loudout contains a variety of pistols from that time, a lightweight bulletproof vest, and radios.
They all also wear suits of different kinds.
The guards exit first, opening the doors for the Princess as she climbs out, glancing at the guards of the other nations.
The Princess, delegate, head chief guard, translator, and head chief guard's buddy guard walk into the building. While this happens the other translator and four other guards stay with the guards, eying the other guards as they keep and eye on their surroundings.
"What kind of meeting is this..." "Shut up, those guys might hear us."

Meeting Chamber

As the party approaches the doors into the room, the head guard and buddy guard stay at the doors with the other guards.

The Princess, delegate, and translator open the doors into the room.
The princess looks around the room at the other representives.
Her group goes to sit in a clear part of the table.
The princess sits down, glancing at the other representatives as she checks her papers.
The delegate places a name plate saying "Princess Bellalei Rye of The Kingdom of Biendiosa" in front of the princess.
The group checks over their papers.


All of the party in the chamber are wearing business suits, the three girls having a skirt to go with.
The princess is Eurasian/Hafu looking, with black hair that is tied into a pony tail. She wears a business suit with several pints on the front. She is in her early twenties.

With the procession on way, Imperial Guard adorned the hallway and the Delegation itself with at least two men guarding each entrance, letting the other countries body guards sit in their own room outside of the Delegation. Henri himself sat near the podium at the stage, gazing around the room checking out each delegate trying to figure out which countries were to be taken seriously, which countries had insulted him, and which countries would be deemed uncivilized by the Cubonian Government in future affairs.

He gave a short nod of approval to the Walff, Khartum, Talamh, and Franquebec diplomats. They had sent clear experienced diplomats to the procession, while refraining from sending their leaders themselves. This showed respect to the Cubonian Authority while at the same time showing their own power. Henri frowned slightly at the sight of the young woman, unsure if it was a diplomatic insult to the Cubonians or simply a cultural understanding, then raising an eyebrow at the sight of the Ezic diplomat completely confused as to the meaning of it. The countries who had sent their leadership, and in such extravagant means made him chuckle a bit, defining this nations as either weak or uncivilized in his head.


He then stood, standing straight as he rose, heading to the Podium to begin the discussion. He quickly gazed around at the delegates, staring them over one last time before proceeding, "Excuse me." he spoke in French, "We will begin discussions now, you each have your own microphone at your desk, and will wait patiently as each person says their piece before continuing. If you have a piece to say, raise your hand. I will be moderating the discussions, as well as representing my country. We can begin." he finished, still standing at the podium, waiting to see who would go first.