The motorcade carrying the Mayaland delegate Noah Singh Burns arrived with all the fanfare that a full paramilitary escort could bring, the roar of motorcycle engines, the flashing red, blue, and yellow lights, the rifles. Any military channel junkie would be hard pressed to be unsatisfied by the hardware displayed, and yet there were no reporters or media. The insurgent attacks throughout the nation, in particular Gurjara, were reason enough to suppress public dissemination of information concerning talks with Mayaland, at least for now. The government wasn't willing to have a delegate die on it's soil, even if it had a slight possibility to increase sympathy.
Noah was greeted with a flashy smile by Chancellor Avara Khala, a pretty South Asian girl wrapped in traditional garb that covered her from the shoulder down, a cover for her hair framing her face like a portrait dressed in white. Avara customarily bowed her head in respect instead of shaking her hand with the man, something that many Varjhali women did despite the liberal rights concerning women's equality.
"It's a pleasure to meet with you," Avara began with a smile, escorting the foreign delegate into the Unity Hall, the structure where almost all foreign and internal politics were discussed.
Noah was greeted with a flashy smile by Chancellor Avara Khala, a pretty South Asian girl wrapped in traditional garb that covered her from the shoulder down, a cover for her hair framing her face like a portrait dressed in white. Avara customarily bowed her head in respect instead of shaking her hand with the man, something that many Varjhali women did despite the liberal rights concerning women's equality.
"It's a pleasure to meet with you," Avara began with a smile, escorting the foreign delegate into the Unity Hall, the structure where almost all foreign and internal politics were discussed.