(Continuation of a Lotus and a Rose RP)
(All posts are pretty much Joint posts with Cryria)
[Vakrestrender, Bjørn Memorial Airport]
[January 30, 2023]
Pacing back and forth along the lavish carpet, the good Jarl of Vakrestrender lost himself in his own thoughts. Cryria, that Novaran nation that ever-was so far away was something of a… He wondered how to explain the great enthusiasm the Valkyr felt about Cryria. Great misunderstandings and a more than slightly askew knowledge of the Novarian power would certainly not help either.
The ever fashionable Jarl was dressed in expansive silk fabrics, with mixed blue and white and buttons with the appearance of silver on them. His suit’s jacket itself had designs of his family emblem, three ships crossing the sea made in the likeness of star constellations with white pearls and gold thread linking them. Pants stitched with a silvery look-alike material - not actually silver of course, it would break too often, and his beautiful white business pants would keep falling down. His undershirt was of a similar makeup, but combined well with his dark blue vest overall. A stylized light blue tie contrasted with the vest.
He had his long, white hair done in what Akuanist consider to be conservative, braided into a single line with a series of blue-shaded ribbons going down it, the lightest shade starting from the near top of his head and darkest shade near to the end. Thankfully, the weather in Vakrestrender has always been near perfection, and the fear of it ruining his elaborate hair style only truly existed within his own mind. His face had only the slightest hint of makeup, which of course is a complete illusion given how long he spent being fussed over by his team of make up artists.
It was Nine o’clock in the morning but he had been awake since four and spent the majority of his time either performing last minute adjustments, or in a chair as the victim of some of the most erratic, poorly tempered and absolutely overdramatic fashion teams that has ever walked across the planet, despite his attempts to seem a bit more conservative in his current outfit for meeting the Cryian queen.
His bodyguard, Yuri, despite the Jarl’s pleas to wear something more fashionable, still wore a simple suit made for a Ursine, dark sunglasses and an earpiece. Not even a handkerchief, how scandalous!
“Perhaps I could explain that Valkyr are fanboys and fangirls of Cryrian culture, would that maybe explain it?” The elven Jarl looks over towards his loyal bodyguard Yuri who was looming right behind him. The Ursine gave a grunt in response. “Of course, of course she might not even know what that is.” The jarl gave a nod, walking forward and back again. Scratching the back of his head, “Well, perhaps the crowd isn’t too large and will only be focused on myself.” He looked over again at Yuri.
The Ursine shaked his head, gave a grunt and stretched his arms. “Spirits guide me, I might have overdone it with the talk show. Do you think any of them would have listened to my advice about being respectful?”
Yuri lowered his arms, raising one hand to make a gesture with two fingers and pushed them together. The Valkyr Jarl took his hands to cover his face, giving a muffled, pained yell. Then adjusted his jacket with his hands. “Okay, okay, we can work with this. This is workable.” Running through plans in his head. “Alright, keep the cosplayers further away from the rope, and we can… Why are you giving me that look, Yuri.”
The Ursine expression didn’t change, but Jørgen could tell from his eyes alone. “How many.” The Jarl gave a serious look up towards Yuri. Who gave the ever so rare, three grunts. “No, what no. I told them to be respectful, a few of them of course would ignore it but that many? Truly?”
A short, harsh grunt was given by Yuri. Jørgen quietly whispers to the spirits to give him strength to survive the coming embarrassment. “Alright, alright. We can’t move them, but what are our other solutions?” He scratched his chin thinking, “Alright, we can handle this. If we move quickly, then she might only see a few of them rather than the army outside.” He shakes his head, “Yes, yes. That will work, if we move quickly and then we can avoid the worst of it.” With renewed confidence, he was quite ready.
“Other than the crowd? Is everything on the route triple checked? Has NCIS swept everything again?” He kept a confident tone, but his father’s words echoed in his head. ‘In spirits we trust. Everything else we verify.’ Yuri gave a sharp grunt, and a head nod confirming the route’s safety. Ursine raised his hand to listen into his earpiece, looking at the Jarl and giving a grunt.
“Okay, the plane has landed. Time to smile, and put on a good Jarl act.” He fixed his tie one final time, watching as the Cryrian plane wheeled itself into proper position. Giving a quick snap of his fingers to let the photographer for the event to step forward out of the airport and hopefully have enough time to set up their camera for the quick photo op. Rest of the reporters have to wait outside of the airport with the rest of the crowd, cosplayers and people who have a deep vested interest in the moderately askew view of Cryrian culture through a Valkyr lens of understanding.
—
The Valkyr sun gleamed dimly off the white-blue insignia, as the Cryrian aircraft lumbered along the taxiway. From the outside, the engineers at Voiture Aérienne might have recognized the plane as one of their own, even with the Örn AB countermeasures suits now bulging out from the craft’s frame. From within, however, the jet was almost uncertainly unlike anything its original designers had intended. Much of the aircraft’s interior had been torn out at the direction of the Cryrian Royal Flotilla, and replaced with a series of kitchens, banquet halls, and bedrooms. Tvillingblom Palace might never fly, but Leiden-1, it seemed, was the next best thing.
Ulrika squinted through a window at the sunbathed tarmac. A few trees waved in the distance against a clear blue sky, and handfuls of personnel rushed to-and-fro amidst their arrival. Set against the grim January climate they had left behind at Queen Evelina International, and it was hard to imagine a more pleasant sight.
Bjørn Memorial Airport. Now there was a tragedy written across a nation’s face… Or a Crown State’s, anyway. The Foreign Ministry had been careful to delineate the two.
The Cryrian Queen sighed, and leaned back in her armchair. A moment later, the Protocol-Captain reentered the sitting room.
“They’re ready to receive us.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Ulrika nodded. Looking out the other window, she could just about make out the Jarl at the end of the red carpet - Or rather, the diminutive figure pacing around the hulking form of his bodyguard.
“Our Consul-General in Vakkerhavfruebukt should be here to greet you as well,” Camilla added.
“Good. Perhaps he will explain how to pronounce that saga of a name without making an idiot of myself,” Ulrika said lightly. All complaints aside, the Queen was in as upbeat a mood as the Protocol-Captain had ever seen. All veiled behind the political courtesies of the Drifting Throne, perhaps, but she had pushed this visit through the bureaucracies of the Household Ministry and foreign service with a determined speed. State visits by a Cryrian monarch were rare things in these times, and rarer still was it to bestow such upon an ancillary territory such as Vakrestrender. That this voyage was undertaken for reasons more personal than political was hardly hidden from anyone who was truly paying attention - Though if the Household Ministry was to be believed, all politics were a personal matter, and the Queen’s visit would further the Kingdom’s outreach in Aurora and continued diversification away from the Novaran Mainland.
Ulrika didn’t doubt that, nor did she doubt that the Consul-General and the Foreign Ministry would put the occasion to good use while highlighting the reciprocity of this visit to the Jarl’s own. But she was, above all, happy to see a friend. It had been over six months since the Jarl had departed from Tvillingblom Palace.
Ulrika set aside the book she had kept for company throughout the flight - A Camaraderie of Souls by Mhioctni Khucnes, one of the few Cryrian-Aikkian novelists to achieve any notoriety in the Kingdom.
“Vakkerhavfruebukt,” Camilla repeated helpfully.
“I think we can talk our way around it while the cameras are on,” Ulrika smiled, and finally rose to her feet. She’d selected a rose-patterned midnight-blue dress with gloves to match, eschewing her usual coat to differentiate from the accompanying retinue of Royal Guards. This, she had been reminded, was necessary for a public reception.
Outside, a set of stairs were wheeled into place. A pair of stone-faced Guards, dressed in their ceremonial blue uniforms, were the first to depart the aircraft and position themselves at the Cryrian side of the carpet. A final, symbolic gesture to complete weeks of far more serious security preparations. A moment later, the Cryrian Queen appeared in the doorframe, one hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun as she descended.
The Jarl of Vakrestrender’s smile turned genuine as he saw his friend be completely blinded by the sun. He was already making plans to ensure that in no uncertain terms would the Cryrians have to publicly say any of the street names, or that of the city itself. Honestly, it was probably best to make sure that the Queen didn’t say anything in Nys’tat’en. Spirits only knew the pain felt by Norgsveltian tourists here, and Nys’tat’en was related to their mother tongue.
He started moving forward, and his bodyguard stepped out of view to let the elven man have his moment and picture. The Jarl stopped just at the halfway mark, and waited for the Cryrians to arrive before he spilled out the ever-so-famous required words of welcome, given to all guests of the royal family. Jørgen gave a quick nod to one of the servants on the sidelines, who was preparing an umbrella for the Queen. It was not the first time someone from the far north of the world would need a bit of shade to block the sun.
Ulrika made her way through the initial gaggle of dignitaries assembled at the bottom of the stairs. Some of them she recognized - Harald Sparv, the Cryrian Consul-General, Reidun Bruhn of the Lotus Development Bank, perhaps a couple other faces she knew only from Foreign Ministry briefings. It was all the same, really, a handshake and a few polite words before she moved on. The Protocol-Captain came after her, scarcely a step behind as she finally made her way down the carpet to where Jørgen was waiting.
“Jarl Bjørn,” Ulrika said in greetings, as she came to a halt.
Good heavens, she thought, If that man wore any more white and blue, I’d think he was one of Camilla’s soldiers!
Without a moment of relief, the Jarl gave a half-body bow towards the queen. Taking an arm under his chest, resting at his waist and outstretching the other outward towards the sea, he spoke.
“The shores of Vakrestrender welcome you. We welcome you to our fair isles, may your time here be pleasant and provide a great memory. Akua has blessed us with a peaceful ocean to rest on our shores, I’m sure you find it not to be wanting.”
He recited from memory. it was a Bjørn tradition to welcome any guest deemed worthy enough for their personal greet onto their isles. It was one of the few the family religiously held to, and the protocol of it was something of a requirement for any Bjørn to know.
With that brief traditional phrase over, he raised himself back up, resting his arms at his side. “I trust your flight was well?” Jørgen asked warmly, looking towards the queen.
Ulrika tilted her head in acknowledgment of the display. “Very well, Jarl Bjørn,” she said, with a faint smile playing across her face, “Your fair isles have a peaceful ocean indeed, and a far kinder sort of weather than the one we left in Leidenstad.”
“And you, Jarl Bjørn. How do you fare? I see your taste in jackets is as impeccable as always!” the Cryrian Queen chuckled.
“Only my jacket? How shameful, my tailors must be informed of this horrid response.” The elf gave a dramatic gasp, but kept his smile. “I am well, and I see you haven’t taken my advice towards getting tailors for your outfit but bare no mind, I can have mine fashion you a new outfit in no time.” He gave a warm laugh, but was quick to speak after, “I’m joking of course, your presence has never been obsolete nor disheartening.”
Ulrika could practically feel the Protocol-Captain keeping a carefully neutral face when the Jarl suggested her outfit was not tailored, but the Cryrian Queen just laughed, “Well, good heavens Jarl Bjørn, if you insist on giving me new outfits, who am I to argue?”
The elven man takes a moment to look at the queen directly into her eyes. Mostly for the photo op, before making a simple hand gesture towards the airport interior. Walking together through the building, he couldn’t help but give a brief warning towards the Queen of a far away place. “Queen Ulrika… I should warn you. Vakrestrender population, spirits guide their souls well they don’t exactly treat monarchs in the traditional sense and in your case…” He paused for a moment, thinking before speaking again, “They will display great enthusiasm towards your presence here in particular.” Jørgen doesn’t quite know how to explain the skewed enthusiasm the Valkyr people hold for Cryian culture and honestly, himself to some degree. There is a reason why his outfit is patterned so closely to traditionally Cryian colors of royalty and such. Setting aside how his father established them mostly as a point to be away from more Norgsveltian and Auroran royalty standards. Which only snowballed in effect then added in Aikkian immigration. Well, it complex situation to explain why the Vakrestrender perhaps overly dreams and idealization Cryrian culture.
Ulrika offered a polite, practiced smile for the camera, before returning a far more genuine grin to the Jarl as they walked along to the airport terminal. “Enthusiasm? Jarl Bjørn, I should not think that a warm welcome will break me!”
Camilla’s eyes, however, sharpened at the suggestion of a crowd. True enough, this had been a part of the security preparations undertaken by the Guard and the Valkyr security forces, but everyone - Everyone Cryrian, at least - would have been all the happier to have simply sent the royals off in a secure motorcade by now. Alas, a state visit was as much a publicity stunt as anything else, and it had been on the Foreign Ministry’s advice that the current itinerary was what it was. There were few places in the world where Cryrian culture could be considered celebrated, by any means, and fewer opportunities still to demonstrate as much in a high profile event. There was no small irony in the fact that the Valkyr had probably done a better job of exporting Cryrian culture than the Cryrians themselves. Though it was hardly her place to question these finer points of international politics, the Protocol-Captain very much felt that the Queen, in her desire to see a friend, did not entirely understand how the island’s population might respond to her arrival.
To put it politely, the ‘crowd’ awaiting them would have fit better in an anime convention or a welcome party for a celebrity rather than that of a traditional monarch. Hordes of elves and kemonomimi dressed in questionable cosplays of Cryrian military uniforms. Cryrian flags waved high, but either including a fictional royal coat of arms, or flown upside-down. The questionable use of skirts is only further exacerbated by their length and stockings. There were even elves trying to cosplay the old Cryrian King Albert, though they wore his famous eyepatch on the wrong eye.
On either side of the row leading to the armored car, there were hundreds bordering on thousands of such figures held back only by the rope and NCIS agents. All of them screaming things in Nys’tat’en, or trying their very best to say things in Cryrian in support of the Queen. Their very best being learned from either anime or Octolingo, that was - Though they had apparently skipped most of their lessons and ruined their streaks in favor of other activities. Spirits only knew what would happen if any of the Cryrians arrived here, or even worse the Queen herself knew that the stereotype of the Valkyr ability to adapt anything and everything into anime was quite true. Even now, the procession was being broadcasted, not in real video of themselves but as virtual models of themselves, to the audience of the nation.
Jørgen gave a smile, not wanting to spend more time out here due to the risk of the Queen taking offense. Usually he would sign a few autographs or some such, but not now. Lights flashed from phones and cameras. “Yuri the car door please.” He said with a smile, giving a nod towards his bodyguard. He kept walking forward, but at the same pace as the Queen.
The car door opened, and Jørgen gestured for the Queen to enter with a half-body bow. He looked around at the absolute state of the Valkyr with… Well they tried their best to cosplay Cryrian culture despite their complete and utter lack of understanding of anything about Cryria. Most knowledge Cryrian culture came through Aikkian lenses, then that came into the Valkyr popular view. Meaning that, no one in Vakrestrender knew anything about Cryria aside from what they were told through Aikthudr’zhur. Which, thanks to capitalism, Akuanism, and several other factors, gave rise to a very disordered view of Cryria indeed.
Ulrika, having walked alongside Jørgen the entire way in complete silence, stepped into the car. A politely stonefaced Protocol-Captain joined Yuri in the front.
“Well, Jarl Bjørn,” Ulrika finally said, with all her diplomatic training apparently working overtime now, “You were quite right. That was a very enthusiastic welcome.”
She briefly glanced out the window at a gaggle of eyepatch-wearing individuals, before grimly sliding the seatbelt over herself without saying another word.
Jørgen gave an extremely nervous chuckle, at least they were held back and more… reserved somewhat. “I must apologize for my people, again truly. Cryrian culture…” He stops himself, “Well, it’s more from an Aikkian lens, than a Valkyr one.” The only Bjørn left on the planet said with a bit of a concerned tone but kept his smile up. “We shouldn’t have any trouble reaching the palace. Cars aside from a few cases like emergency services or my own are outlawed here.” He desperately tries to change the subject from his people’s understanding of Cryrian culture. Despite his personal attempt to control them, “You will be able to see my super villain hideout, as soon as we pass through the first skyscrapers around. I believe you will be most impressed by the…” He spins his hand around in a gesture. “Well, let’s just say, my family spent quite some time building it.” He gave a more genuine smile as the car took off.
“An Aikkian lens?” Ulrika said thinly. She certainly had to wonder what any Aikkian would think of those cheerfully emulating the styles of Albertine Cryria… But she was the Queen of Cryria today, built upon the Cryria of yesterday. There was no such criticism she could safely field against the past, no matter how sordid it was.
The Cryrian Queen crossed her arms, and occupied herself with watching the skyscrapers go by. These were surprisingly rare sites in Cryria, whose tallest buildings did not exceed even 250 meters. Indeed, some call even those a garish blight upon the traditional cityscape of Leidenstad. The Valkyr, clearly, had no such compunctions however, and they had the wealth to make such ambitions come true. A veritable forest of steel and glass rose up all around them as they drove through the city.
Despite his efforts, the people of Valkyr were still enthusiastic. If the crowd at the airport wasn’t enough, one could only look outside of the window. Seeing the hordes of people supporting them and throwing flower petals at the car. The Bjørn gave a small laugh, simply used to the petals. “It’s a strange and new tradition but the people of Vakrestrender throw flower petals as a way to give someone good luck, you get used to it. Well usually, sometimes you are at a party and someone throws a petal into your face and you’re caught off guard by it.”
Ulrika exhaled softly, as if releasing her irritation. “A new tradition?” she finally asked with a hint of amusement, “Isn’t that something of an oxymoron, Jarl Bjørn?
The jarl gave a small laugh, “I tried to translate a Nys’tat’en word, Noegameltgjøredtnytt, but I fear it doesn’t translate well.” Thank the spirits, something far more different. “It means try to take something old from somewhere else, then adapt it to something new.” The neon lights of the city shining brightly through the windows of the car as they drove by.
Vakrestrender, with their more than creative and less traditional view of Akuanism. Built their cities in a fashion that would make Norgsveltians in Osfjord question if they’re overdoing it with neon lights and massive skyscrapers dotting around them. The designs of buildings only matched those of Neo-Fantøm in Borea, with their absurdity of neon. Streets of course still maintain trees, but most of them were completely artificial and of course there are street gardens everywhere but nothing less than complete rebuilding of the city could fix the sheer amount of light pollution in the city.
Ulrika nodded slowly as they drove past the neon sea. “Yes,” she murmured, “Somewhere else, something new. I can see that.” She turned back to the Jarl with a grin, “So. Where is your volcano, Jarl Bjørn?”
He returns the grin, opening the sunroof of his armored car much to Yuri and Camilla concern. Standing up so he can see out, he offers a hand to the Cryrian Queen. “We’re approaching it now.” He gives the utmost and polite, shit eating smile he ever had in his life.
The car was on the road heading towards his palace on top of a dead volcano. Passing through the massive skyscrapers into a large plain of greenery and flowers along the route to the palace. The palace curved into the black and gray stone of the volcano, from this distance one would believe it was painting or a vision from a dream. It has a white-brick, non-light reflective marble brick crown around it, which keeps each with differentiating color tiles of roofing denoting their function. Even from a distance one can see the massive stained glass windows, each of which is crafted with an Akuan myth to symbolize.
“Good heavens, Jarl Bjørn!” Ulrika exclaimed, tugging at the man’s sleeve and squeezing her eyes shut as the wind tore through the open roof, “Sit down and put your seatbelt on. You’ll get your head taken off by an overpass!”
He gave a laugh in response. Completely ignoring the Queen’s concerns. “We’re safe to look out, no overpasses ahead. Maybe a stray pigeon but no roads over our heads.”
The dozen towers built into the palace as the keeps, ripped into the sky with the colored tiles they denoted. Rings denoting each change of floor on the keeps and on the palace itself are denoted with a fantastic display of sharp black, to contrast the dreamy marble brick. The palace staff’s village being connected to the road was no less grandiose. Being built in designs that came out of pure fictitious stories of a fantasy, despite the modern conveniences provided by the village.
“I can’t wait to show you the lake we built in the volcano’s mouth, or the garden around it.” He beams with pride at his family’s completely humble and not at all unnecessarily palace. “It’s fantastic at sunset.” Giving a gesture towards a keep, one that’s adorn with sea blue tiling, “I have arranged your quarters to be up there, it faces towards Cryria. Don’t worry, we have elevators.” He gives a chuckle, “Your luggage can take the service elevator, and my staff will take them when we arrive.”
Ulrika smiled as they entered the palace complex. The Jarl’s enthusiasm for his home was infectious. The place was certainly a far cry from the genteel suffocation of Tvillingblom Palace, or the cold, ancient walls of Leidenstad Castle.
“An artificial lake?” Ulrika remarked, her mind swirling around the thought, “Pumping all that water up the mountain must have been like…” she shook her head and laughed, “You have a beautiful home, Jarl Bjørn. I’m honored that you ever cared to leave it for my own.”
“Thank you, I give high praise to my staff and engineers.” The good Jarl gave a half body bow, opening the door to his palace. “If you would be so kind, clap three times as you enter and ring the bell.” He gestures towards the large bell near the entrance, “It’s tradition for a new guest of the palace to ring it, you see what shortly.”
“Why?” Ulrika chuckled, clapping three times and reaching for the bell, “Does the volcano erupt if I do?”
Camilla stepped out of the vehicle and crossed her arms silently as the bell rung out.
The bell rang through the air, and within a few moments the massive wooden doors of the palace opened. Lines of servants inside, bowing their heads. A majestic light beaming from the other end of the wall. The light produced a shape of three boats, sailing and then landing onto the shores in a colorful spectral of a lightshow. Soft hymns of bells ringing as the royals entered, playing a kind tone. The Jarl gives a small smile, “Something like that.” The lights itself, showing the boats in a colorful display, almost perfectly matching up to the royals as they walked towards the end.
“No eruption then, Jarl Bjørn?” Ulrika asked cheekily as the spectacular display passed them by, “I’m disappointed!”
As they reached the floor of the stairwell, standing on top of a colorful mosaic depicting his palace. “Patience.” The Jarl gave a smile, turning towards the doorway entrance and giving a gesture towards the queen to follow suit. The final display of light, morphs into a chaotic display of the travelers from the boat hiking up the volcano. The doors to the palace closed, the volcano itself designed in light laid on it. Shortly followed by the travelers cast in a gray light walking up it. The staff around them gave a perfectly on time clap, as the volcano exploded casting out rainbow colored lights stimming from the mouth volcano cast itself like shooting stars all around the room. “You wouldn’t believe how many people ask about the eruption.” Jørgen gave a hearty laugh, but kept a firm look at the queen. Greatest part of the introduction to his palace was not the light display itself, but rather the guests’ awe.
“Very impressive, Jarl Bjørn!” Ulrika offered a polite applause at the sudden burst of light, “Would you look at that. Your supervillain lair has a superlaser of its own!”
The window of the curtain began to open, signaling the end of the light show. His head of staff giving a signal for the staff assigned to the Queen step forward in line, giving polite head bows to her. “These are the staff that will attend to your needs and wants. Also help you find your way around the palace.” He gives a polite chuckle.
“I shall try very hard not to get lost, Jarl Bjørn,” Ulrika nodded to the assigned staff, “Though I think I will need help finding my quarters all the same. I should very much like to get settled in, before seeing this lovely homeland of yours.”
He gave a gesture towards the waiting staff assigned to her, to take her away to her tower.