My Travels in the Metaverse
Part 2: The European Alliance
Subtitled: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity! *
*Note: A number of languages from Old Europe were spoken here. For the ease of my readers, I have translated as well as I could. Europeans actually all seem to speak 10 or 12 languages fluently. Alas, I struggle with but one: Australian.
The Europeans lounged around their Lords of the Realm lounge, sophisticatedly.
Large windows looked onto the newly rebuilt Bastille. The subdued European afternoon sun basked the room in a dull, sombre glow. Dark mahogany furniture crouched in the lounge as if admonishing progress and practicality. Plush, Belgian carpet dulled every sound. The air was redolent with tobacco smoke as it swirled in the heavy, still air. The leather armchairs held the nobility of Europe.
Lord Orpon imperiously waved his hand at the cognac-waiter, and raised his cognac tumbler. “Garcon! Another!”
The cognac-waiter glared at the Lord and muttered ‘merde’ under his breath, yet promptly refreshed Lord Orpon’s tumbler. Lord Orpon took a sip and sighed. “Bloody oath this is grouse stuff. Where’d we git it?”
Lord Ralph twirled his moustache. “Buggered if I know. It’s as dry as a dead dingos donger though”.
“Yea” said LordTheRon, “It ain’t my cupa tea. Still, yous galahs couldn’t tell the difference like, could yas?”
Lord Orpon grimaced, and sniped “Speak for yaself, ya pimped up Nancy boy”.
“I’m not from Nancy!” snarled Lord Ralph.
“Let it lay Lords” snapped Emperor G-Force with a chill in his rich, commanding voice. The gathered Lords of the Admiralty instantly became still. With a slight cringe, the gathered Lords watched as the Emperor pulled a Partagas from the humidor, snipped the end, lit, and took a slow, thoughtful puff. After a minute he exhaled and motioned to the waiting humidor-waiter. “Peon, take this rubbish from us! We wanted a Cohiba! A new posting awaits you peon, in…where are we sending failures these days?”
Lord Orpon chuckled, and muttered “To Brussels” and then went pale: “T’was but a joke Your Magnificence”.
The Emperor’s glass snapped in his manicured clenched hand. “We consider that inappropriate. We shall send this peon to Glasgow instead. Away with you!” The peon fled from the lounge in tears.
Within minutes the gathered Lords watched as the Emperor was offered a Cohiba by the new humidor-waiter, snipped the end, lit, and took a slow, thoughtful puff. “Better. Now to business. The Special Forces rep is here in a minute, and we’ve gotta stonewall ‘im”.
“Why my Glorious Emperor?” queried LordTheRon.
“They iz after money as usual. Apparently, setting up an empire costs credits…lots of credits. And ya know who has lots of moola”.
“Um…”
“Us! The European Alliance!”
In the thoughtful silence, Lord Ralph tweaked some snuff from his jewelled snuffbox and snorted loudly. Dabbing at his nose he whined, “But who here knows anything about money? That’s why we have hoi polloi. Money is so middle class. Something corner shop owners dabble in”. The other Lords muttered agreement. “Quite”. “Here, here”.
Before the Emperor could answer, an usher minced to the plush leather armchairs, leaned towards Emperor G-Force, and whispered quietly. The Emperor shushed the other aristocracy. “Their rep’s here. Ya know what to do”.
“Be ourselves?”
“Exactly”.
Hurley wandered into the room and peered through his glasses at the sitting Lords. Lord Orpon surged to his feet and held out a plump, moist hand. “G’Day mate. Was your flight OK? And grab a seat. I’m Lord of the Foreign Office”.
Hurley perched in an armchair and bowed his head to the Emperor. “Felicitations your Grandness. And to your Lordships. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
Lord Orpon made the introductions. “These chaps are LordTheRon Grand Admiral of the Admiralty, and Lord Ralph Chancellor of the Exchequer. Over there are Undersecretaries of the Foreign Office, named, ah…Aetheling and Andreas. The Undersecretaries nodded politely, and one said, “Actually, we are Aaberg and Aldebert”.
“Whatever” said Lord Orpon. He turned to Ambassador Hurley: “Now explain yaself mate. Ya want some dough?”
Hurley briefly studied each noble face. Culture, refinement and sophistication ooze from their faces like fat from a chico roll, he thought. “Know my Lords, that the Special Forces are at your disposal. We are not the A-Team, but we are indeed anxious to receive commissions from the noble Europeans, whom we have always looked up to, should such be forthcoming. Why, with all of the enemies you Europeans have made over the centuries, there must be some little job that we could undertake, for an appropriate fee of course”.
Lord Orpon nodded, “Quite an interesting proposal. We’ve certainly got some kangaroos in the top paddock that need to be dealt with. I suggest we set up a committee or two and draft some terms of reference…”
“We’ll need a referendum before establishing a committee” said LordTheRon.
“But not in the Manx Tynwald of course” interjected Lord Ralph.
“We know that! But didn’t Ireland indicate no further referendums this year?”
“That was Denmark”.
“And the German elections are next month…bad timing there”.
“Indeed. And don’t forget the English!”
“Who could forget the English!”
“Belgium will go along with The Netherlands”.
“It will not!”
“And…”
And there we must leave the scene. As can be imagined, the negotiations went for several months without any conclusion. Nonetheless, Ambassador Hurley used his time wisely, and before returning home, had his first glass of champagne in Champagne, his first taste of Parmesan in Parma and his first use of a French letter in France.
Final notes:
1. ‘merde’ can mean many things including ‘bugger’.
2. As Impune Lacessit goes on incessantly about, Europeans actually all love each other and never disagree. And they are generous to a fault.
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