The sea of grey and blue in Reikan park was finally broken up by a pair of figures clad in the traditional green of the Nepleslian Imperium. With a procession of marines trailing behind them with the sour faces of murdurers who'd had their favorite murder impliments removed from them, Sky Marshall
Charlie Coast and
Grand Admiral Lazarus Clarke moved with what grace could be afforded them through the throngs of other foreigners with programs in their hands. It was the admiral who spoke first, folding up his program and slipping into a breast pocket so he could free up a hand to scratch idly under the neck of the unsettling vulture on his wrist which seemed insistent on giving the Sky Marshall an awfully intense stare.
"If we're lucky, Senator Barton won't even know we've left until about halfway through the third panel." Commented Lazarus, looking ahead with a soft smile, "And if we're really lucky he'll go to the wrong airlock and walk out into space."
Coast glanced sideways at the Admiral before going back to letting his eyes wander all over the park, sometimes appraising the particularly curvy features of some attendants, and sometimes boring holes into the eyes of anyone that shot him a look he wasn't particularly pleased with. However the wandering of his eyes was an extremely conscious, focused effort in attempting to ignore the intense stare he was receiving from a particular winged individual. What sort of messed up, superstitious - "ass portent is this supposed to be?" Coast trailed off in his thoughts, which somehow meant that he finished them by vocalizing them.
"Clarke, how long have you had that thing?"
"Lucy?" Lazarus glanced to the bird, watching as it failed to react to his adoration. He smiled again and turned back to the Sky Marshall, "Oh, I picked her up when Vera died." Vera had been the buzzard that came before, a humongous black creature that was far too large to be an Admiral's pet. It had always sat on Clarke's shoulder and-- compared to Lucy it had always been more magnanimous or at least disinterested in the Sky Marshall. "I'd say oh, about three years ago?"
Coast took a few moments to regard the answer he received, and took several other moments to regard both the man it came from and the bird that it addressed. There was quite a bit of regarding to go around, and more to come in the very near future. However anyone taking a candid picture of the two would produce an image of a bird-toting Grand Admiral being given a very odd side-eye glance by a Sky Marshall.
"I'm sorry to hear about your loss." Coast said, attempting to try to vocalize a bit of concern through the war-forged metal cavern that was his being. "About the bird and the Senator. What could he possibly be so busy with?"
"Frankly, I don't care. The man's a sicophantic pissant." There was a shrug of the shoulders from the admiral, and then a sidelong glance at a Lorath attendant who may very well have been carrion-eater-aspected L'manel enough to interest the aging officer. After a moment's consideration, Lazarus refocused on the topic at hand and went on, "As for Vera-- thirty-five men died on my ship in the battle that claimed her life, I would respectfully say that she was the least of our losses that day..." There was a short frown, and then, "So, do you think the Empire's going to back out of the treaty?"
"You can at least say she perished amongst our nation's finest." There was a hint of Coast's face softening from something other than being a foreigner in a foreign world, but that was only a case of the Sky Marshall becoming distracted by producing a piece of nicotine gum from his pocket.
However Clarke's last query gave a slight pause to the rythmnic, almost sensual way in which the Sky Marshall's teeth slowly extracted the sweet, calming nicotine from the entirely unecessary gum made necessary by politics and regional restrictions on certain consumables. "Hopefully they do not. The Treaty was rather hard fought, and many concessions were made on all sides in the spirit of galactic peace." Coast tucked the gum under his tongue, attempting to somehow save it's supply of nicotime as long as possible.
"However what the Empire decides to do I think is their own choice. I would hope that all parties may respect the wishes of each other, while respecting that we have our own interests."
"Right." Clarke nodded. "And Senator Barton indicated that since we lifted the restrictions on Nekos, a small portion of our population has slowly become made up of civilian expatriots from Yamatai. We should probably try to protect them in any negotiations with an immigration clause of some sort. Besides, I think it's time to admit that every twelve-year-old Nepleslian boy wants a twelve-year-old Yamataian girl for Lewis Pasco Day and stop kidding ourselves."
"I cannot believe how in such a short period they've already made cultural inroads into our Imperium. The Yamataian entertainment industry is fast growing. I cannot understand these foreign Yamataian holotoons and games, but if it means our people get to expend their income on something other than guns, ammunition and vice..." Coast stopped himself there. "...Well, then I guess it's one other thing they'll maybe spend money on."
"But for sure, we should offer some sort of protection for these expats. After all, it benefits us to show that our hearts are as expansive as the wide tundras of
Half Empty Any sort of publicity helps, but it's better if we end up looking good in the end." Coast continued his chewing. "That is my overall philosophy regarding this quandry of ours. Hopefully the worst does not come to pass. Where in the hell is this place, anyway. Last time we could drive right up to the gates."
"Okay, well," Lazarus paused in his gait and stowed the bird on his shoulder with a frown as he dug out his communicator and looked up the directions again, then turned three-quarters and pointed to the last direction either of them would've looked. "It's right there, Sky Marshall. We just walked past it. And..." He looked back up with a sideways face and slid the device back into his pocket, extending a hand to pat the Premier on the shoulder and add in a low tone, "You might want to save the grandstanding for when we get inside, sir. That kind of talk really gets the Yammies goin'-- or at least as far as I know they like it."
Clarke's suggestion about oratory diplomatic speeches in a Yamataian cultural context were utterly destroyed, dashed upon the rocks of how disappointed in himself Coast was for walking completely by the venue. "I can't."
Coast regarded the line of Marines behind them, all looking away from the Premier with various degrees of curiosity, and some pity.They were a tableau depicting men desperately trying not to pay attention or seem like they had any inkling of what was going on. One of the bastards even had the indecency to try to whistle an inconspicious tune.
Coast looked away and noted that the current paved path, so meticulously maintained amongst this sea of perfectly cut natural earth, extended into the distance. Far away from their venue. "I can't fucking believe..." Coast trailed off as he immediately oriented himself towards the venue and walked across the lawns, now responsible for a procession of Nepleslians destroying the highly maintained lawn with their foot traffic.
"Clarke," Coast half-shouted. "Promote the Marine that was whistling."
Without hesitating, Admiral Clarke turned over his shoulder and snapped a finger before pointing to one of the men. "Corporal, you're a Sergeant now. Get that squad in step, and get them all whistling."
Immediately, there was a sound not unlike a mis-matched collection of out-of-tune flutes covering a unique rendition of the Nepleslian Anthem. This, along with the rythmic footfalls of heavy boots on freshly manicured grass and the plaintive sound made by a vulture being roused from sleep, was the background music that played as the Sky Marshall walked like a returning champion wrestler into the political ring that was the International Relations Conference. And really, odd though it might have been; it was kind of awesome, too.