A limo, the hood ornament an elaborate representation of the Quarrovth eagle, glided to a stop in front of the Imperial Palace. The doors open, and, one by one, stepped out the Councilmen, in order of their seniority on it. Lastly, following his sister, stepped out Meneldur Tar-Ilium. He was wearing a navy blue dress shirt, a black coat, and - Oh my - a tie. Strangely formal for Meneldur, who would readily give speeches with a hint of fur slippers at the bottom of the television screen.
Pleasantly large, thought Emeraldea.
Meneldur took out his pocket watch. 8:03. He was three minutes late. Adjusting his hair (The back of which, let shoulder-length as was the style in Myroria, had curled up slightly.), Meneldur walked in. Serko Moritz Eduard was adjusting his thick, ornamented sash comprised of ivory blocks connected with maroon elastic. It had set him back a couple thousand Kolonialreich marks, his entire reward for moving up in rank from Upper Oathman to Councilman. Meneldur, and the rest of the Council, expected he would stop wearing his elaborate jewelery and even refuse the formality of Serko soon enough, as the more senior members had already done. But for now it was simply enough to smile, acknowledge his over-used Serkos, and move on. The rest of the Council shuffled in after Meneldur. Most were excited to see the Coronation Hall - to compare it to Myroria's, and comment on it. The comments were always "typical of outlanders to underspend" if it was cheaper than Myroria's, and "typical of outlanders to overspend" if it was nicer. But those would be saved for home - even the most self-righteous, pompus House Quarrovth knew better than to start international incident.
