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Back again with the second installment of this little experiment. I hope you like worldbuilding, because you're gonna get a lot of it in this story. Somewhat ironically, this was all ad-hoc; though I spend a ton of time working on and planning universes, this one had very little initial planning of any sort. Sometimes you just hit on a world concept that sort of... flows, like this, some part of the situation and the details work together to make it seem very natural. As a reminder, these are marked adult due to some of the "sexually charged" content, but there won't be any actual sexy stuff for several chapters yet.

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I awoke the next morning to the smell of breakfast.

This is not so common a thing in my circles, you understand. Though many wealthy Imperials have personal chefs, and of course spouses are also known to be gifted in the ways of breaking fast (when inclined), I have had neither, and indeed few diplomats I know employ others for more than tidying up on occasion (it's seen as rather ostentatious, not a good look for the capitol, as crowded with wealthy folk as it is already). Of course, someone of the title 'Ambassador' is inclined to a bit more luxury, but I'm perfectly comfortable preparing my own food, given the raw materials, the tools, and the use of my paws.

As I was unfortunately still lacking the latter (and golly, were my arms stiff after sleeping on them all night!), I lumbered somewhat clumsily out of bed, nearly fell, and stood fixedly in the center of the room, frowning down at my naked body. I'd (temporarily) forgotten about that situation. Despite having grown momentarily accustomed to the predicament last night, I didn't feel particularly like walking around like this again, especially if anyone else were to be in the room. I felt shyly, in other words, freshly ashamed in the new light of morning.

Fortunately, I wasn't given a particular choice, which at least made things easier. Having heard my stumbling about, a familiar gray-furred lepuline appeared in the doorway; I glanced up, and felt his eyes sweep down my frontside like a hot lantern. "Good morning," I offered, rather crisply, fighting the urge to turn away.

"And to you," he replied. "I have made breakfast."

Indeed. I supposed it wasn't all bad. I followed him eagerly to the kitchen, where I-don't-know-what was smoking gently atop the stove; he withdrew the pan and began laying it out. I sat once more at the table, grimacing as the rough wood of the chair touched my more delicate areas, and watched as he placed the plate in front of me.

"Are you sufficient, or would you like to use the fork this time?" he asked, with a faintly amused note in his voice.

I blushed faintly, recalling my performance last night. "I think I can manage," I said, not feeling particularly keen on being fed like a baby. "Thank you."

I had just taken my first bite of lightly toasted root vegetable that tasted better than heaven, when Mohjir took his seat across from me, setting down another plate. "If you do not wish it, I will not," he began, "But I thought it might be pleasant, if we were to share meals on occasion."

I chewed thoroughly before replying. "If you're going to bring the food and do the cooking, you're absolutely welcome to partake of the product with me. This is delicious, by the way."

He smiled. "I attempted to come up with something you would find familiar. We may not have parsnip in this part of the world, but perhaps this is close?"

"Bit oilier than I'm used to, but I'm enjoying the flavor," I replied. "What is it called?"

"This is called potato," he said, pointing to the roots. "And these are griddle cakes, which I believe are reasonably close to your crepes. Heavier, and drier. Made from buckwheat, so you should find the flavor familiar, though I have read that its use is less common across the seas."

"At least both our nations understand the value of a good morning meal," I said enthusiastically, biting into a cake.

He chuckled. "You may wish to have them with this. A fruit preserve, quite tart, made of crane berry. Would you like me to spread some for you?"

"If you would," I said, backing away, so that he could smear the purple-black substance atop my cakes. I dove back in almost before he was out of range, and heard him snort.

"I'll get you a napkin."

Sheepishly, I let him mop the sticky substance off my nose. Once the ravenous edge of my hunger was sated, I noticed him eating from his rather fuller plate (mammals, after all, have faster metabolisms, and need more food at a faster pace than I), and the deft, precise motions he made with the utensils. "I must look quite the savage, rubbing my face all over the plate like this," I said, after a moment.

"Of course, you have an excuse," he replied, indicating my paws, resting uselessly atop the base of my tail. "I would not expect etiquette is at the forefront of your mind."

"In truth, it is atypical for hydrans to use such tools as you have there," I said. "We normally eat with our claws, unless the food is very hot. Not that I am unaccustomed to dining with a fork, given my profession."

He chuckled. "You would be well advised to avoid using your claws when dining with others, though I do not believe I will mind. And perhaps, until you are released, it would be best if I were to manage things, should you dine with any guests of state."

"Is that not in its own way the more humiliating?" I asked. "Being fed?"

He gave me a glance, just as I was nose-deep in the potatoes again. "I assure you, it is not."

Feeling somewhat undignified, I tried to eat more carefully.

As I finished up, I noticed something else. "You're wearing trousers," I said.

He laughed. "Indeed I am, of a sort." He had on a dark brown garment which went between his legs, and around his thighs, rather like pants, but left his hips bare. Something like suspenders went up over his shoulders, and connected to the coverings atop his upper arms. 'Trousers' was a bit generous, at least by my definitions; they reached only from his knees to his hips, where a more normal silhouette back in the capitol would have been from above his navel to mid shin, rather like the ones I'd had yanked off of me the day before. The suspender portion was also brown, and dug into his gray fur; I hadn't noticed before how long and thick it was. He wasn't wearing anything over his chest, but it was a nice start.

"You look nearly Imperial," I joked. "At this rate people will start mistaking you for the Ambassador."

"On the contrary," he grinned. "This style originated from peasants' clothing, though it has become fashionable, particularly here in the east. Farmers' clothing, at least, certain crops. These pieces, on the legs, protect from walking through the burrs, and these on the arms protect from carrying bales. Of course, there would also be gloves, were I a farmer, and boots. A bit far from the look of an envoy, I think."

"Ah, indeed," I replied, a bit put off. "Well, I appreciate it, all the same."

"I thought you might," he said. "Although perhaps it was a more playful choice than the potatoes."

I laughed in spite of myself. "You're set to win me over any way you can, are you?"

"You may look at it that way, if you like," he demurred. "I am simply doing my job, trying to make you more comfortable."

"Well, as you say. Your ways may be new to me, but I am not in this line of work because I am afraid of everything non-Imperial. I do like to learn about the cultures I interact with, and participate in them to some degree." I nearly tried to cross my arms, before remembering I couldn't. "Perhaps I do not wish to be comfortable."

"I fear I doubt that, but if you wish, I will take it under advisement when dressing tomorrow. Have faith in my ability to make you _un_comfortable, as well." He grinned, in a manner that made it clear he wasn't serious.

I snorted at that, and decided to change the subject. "It seems your foodstock has very little in common with that of the Empire. I don't suppose coffee is too much to hope for?"

He gave me a curious look. "Perhaps if you describe it, I can say."

Well, that didn't bode well. "A beverage," I began, "prepared from a particular species of berry, which has been roasted. It is a powerful stimulant. In the Empire it is common to consume it in the morning; it brings alertness and focus, at the cost of mild dependence."

"Ah." He ducked his head. "I am afraid we are somewhat averse to such psychoactive substances in the Federation. You may enjoy chocolate, however."

"Ah, yes!" I replied eagerly, although a bit confused. "I have had it, rarely; the Empire imports it at great cost from Vaderion. A delightful confection."

"Mmm, yes, I have eaten Vaderian chocolate as well. A somewhat different item. Here in the north of the continent, we prepare it as a beverage, in a similar manner to your 'coffee'," he said, with a small chuckle. "And I think you will find it much less expensive. I will see if I can locate some for you; it may not be what you are used to, but it is pleasant all the same. Kletholan drink it in the evening, but you are of course welcome to consume it whenever you like."

"I see," I replied, chewing potato. "Thank you. You say the Federation disapproves of psychoactives?"

"Well," he hedged, "Less so the Federation in a legal sense, and more our culture. You will find, for instance, that we have little in the way of alcohols. Most Kletholan do not drink them, though there is a traditional mead in the west -- weak, by most standards, I understand, and consumed only at certain times of year -- and we have some few taverns here in the capital, mostly to serve crews of ships in port who desire their services."

"Unfortunate," I sighed. "I suppose the reputation of the Empire precedes me in that regard."

"And which is that?"

"Imperial vinyards are renowned the world over, or at least, so it goes in the heartlands." I chuckled a bit to myself. "But, I suppose such a reputation would not propagate well here, for multiple reasons."

"I suppose it would not," he said, with a faint grin. "I do not mean to give you the impression the Federation would be an unsuitable market for the Empire's wines. Indeed, perhaps our taste for your wines is simply... untapped." He paused, and I waited, interested. "I am not a scholar, I do not study such things -- but I feel, purely subjectively, that any aversion to alcohol is somewhat of a hallmark of the older generations, and of those who live far from the cities. Here in the capital, there are those of my kind who drink with the sailors, and many of them are my age; that is to say, younger. But, as you might think, they are not particularly well-regarded for doing so."

"I catch your meaning," I murmured, making a mental note; imperial wine was not perhaps a high-volume export (we kept a great deal of it for ourselves), but it was a premium one. "Do you drink alcohol, Mohjir?"

"I do not," he replied. "But I harbor no personal distaste toward the practice. I have never had cause to feel negatively toward it. Nor, truthfully, to feel positively."

"Indeed. Well, should you like to try it, you may have the opportunity. Supposing my ship gets out of impound sometime within the next few years," I said, somewhat sarcastically. "I have at least ten casks of Roussear aboard with Imperial seals upon them." Seeing the name did not make an impression (why would it?), I elaborated. "Roussear is one of the most prestigious vinyards; very rare and sought after, and several emperors have personally favored it. Fortunately, this one does not, making it somewhat easier to come by than in eras past. Though, they're perfectly seizable, mind you; the titling documents were in my cabin. Along with most of the rest of my belongings."

That matter rose back to the forefront of my mind, somewhat souring the taste of the crane berry in my mouth (already, as Mohjir had warned me, quite tart). It had certainly been a novel experience, being received by a detachment of guards armed with very non-ceremonial weapons, but I'd been taken to a guardpost and stripped of my clothing so quickly that I'd had little chance to process the sheer audacity of impounding an imperial courser, of all ships. Indignation, clearly, would get me nowhere at this point; I had missed that window.

"I should like to be permitted to access my ship soon, and reclaim some of my belongings," I said, with appropriate decorum despite my frustration at the ridiculousness of the request.

"I am certain that will be arranged in the near future," he said, with a degree of gravity.

"I hope it will. I had thought my missive of credence would be reviewed in short order," I said dryly, nibbling at the last cake, "so it stands to reason that someone ought fetch it from my ship, and those documents are secured in my vault."

"Perhaps it would help if you were to enumerate your belongings of most need," he said. "I can raise the matter before representatives of the council for you."

I blinked. "Well, chiefly, I should particularly like to know where my Knights have gotten to, what has been done with my staff. This was an exploratory posting, but I did have a number of individuals I chose to provide their expertise." That was, strictly speaking, not true. I'd been assigned a ragtag group of misfits on the outs with their superiors; I'd had zero choice in the matter. But, better I have them to rely on than just myself.

"I can inquire into the matter for you," Mohjir said, in his calm manner. "Do not fear, however, that you will be lacking in any arena. I am able to procure for you any information you may need, and if I cannot, I can find for you those who can. That is, after all, my job."

"As much as I appreciate that," I said, not unkindly, "I would prefer not to place the totality of my career in the arms of a relative stranger."

"That is understandable," he said, sounding somewhat defeated. I felt a little bad about that.

"Barring that matter, I suppose there are but few items I truly need in any short order," I admitted reluctantly. "Particularly given I am not permitted to dress myself, or write, or otherwise comport like a being with any dignity. I should at least like to review my belongings in the flesh, to ensure they have not been stolen by a deckhand, and perhaps contribute the materials I did prepare for this posting, such that I am not entirely reliant on the Federation's generosity to do my work." I inhaled, exhaled. "I fear you are not seeing me at my most composed."

"I suppose that is to be expected," he said placidly. "One cannot fault you."

"Perhaps not. Still, I would be far more organized, were this any other posting, I can assure you." I sighed, and shook my head. "To that end, perhaps we should begin reviewing my affairs; it will comfort me."

We moved to the study, where I found the desk accommodating, and the chair more forgiving to my underside than the bench was. I was feeling more than a little sore from just a few hours total of sitting without trousers; it didn't bode well for my continued comfort. If I could put my tail forward between my legs, things would be infinitely better, but with my arms manacled behind my back and my center of mass thus shifted backward, such a position would be precarious at best, painful at worst.

Beginning the substance of the posting was as atypical as anything else. I had very little to contribute, from either memory or official stance; there simply was none with regard to the Federation. This was all entirely new territory, and I had been given little guidance beyond trade directives from my side of the seas. A great and terrible thing -- I had incredible freedom to forge a new and healthy alliance between our peoples, but if I stumbled, I would be held accountable, without a diplomatic leg to stand on. It felt rather like my own country expected me to fail, and would be at best pleasantly surprised if I managed to pull it all off.

Seemed plausible, given... past events. I wondered if the Emperor even hoped my incompetence would spark a war. Nothing like the imperial war machine, to get the economy going; how many years had it been since the pa vulfrem was declared, just before I would have been drafted? At least twenty, closer to thirty now. My more cynical side was beginning to feel pretty set-up.

I had tried to prepare as best I could for this posting, had brought along a number of tomes aboard ship to peruse. The imperial libraries had very little on the present incarnation of lepuline authority, and even historic notes from before the Federation, interesting as they were, felt rather sparse and ambiguous. I knew little more now than I had a year before, and had developed some concept of simply 'winging it' for the first span of my tenure... at least, not something I was unused to, after some of the prior fiascoes I'd been involved in.

The Kletholan, on the other paw, seemed at least ready to engage me; in the space of an hour I was primed on the chief diplomatic subunits of the Federation, their organs, and the interests of each. The majority of these were the Chieftains of the clans, of which there were around thirty, but with ten representing the extreme majority of the Kletholan population. They were the entities who "federated", some hundred-fifty years prior, resulting in the current political landscape (with some minor alterations and complexities over the intervening span, of course, including at least one civil war we'd even heard of across the ocean, though Mohjir seemed to skirt around that). The capital Nendara, where I now resided, was located within the lands of the clan of Shedus, which was helmed by Shedus-Abew. I was told I'd met him the previous day, as the Chieftains were all councilors, but given I'd been unable to meet the eyes of the councilors at all, I found it rather beyond me to suppose as to his identity. The council also comprised a number of other members, totalling just over one hundred (the number was variable on account of the seasonal migrations, which I had no context for; I asked Mohjir to begin taking notes for me by recording that I would need more information about that), some drawn from the clan populations and some from other roles within the government.

"I don't suppose there's some glaringly obvious clan marking I've been missing, is there?" I asked, looking Mohjir up and down much as he'd done to me a few times. A nondescript example of rabbit-like ears and nose, thick gray fur, swishing tail. "How do I tell you all apart?"

"There is not," he said with amusement. "Though given a lepuline's ethnicity, one can surmise to within three or four clans, which he likely belongs to."

"Supposing one can determine a lepuline's ethnicity," I said, somewhat put off.

He laughed. "Indeed. Well, you will learn. I would run the risk of stereotyping to try to explain it, but when you have met more of the Chieftains, I will help you group them."

Feeling a bit frustrated, I sat back and crossed my arms. "Which clan do you belong to?"

"I am a member of clan Holsfir, whose lands lie in the extreme northwest of the Federation. Our Chieftain is Holsfir-Nigor, who was the youngest Chieftain of any clan in nine generations, though he is now middle-aged. The clan itself is ranked eighteenth in size, though our land is the second-least densely populated in the entire Federation on account of its considerable size."

"Interesting. So your full name is Holsfir-Mohjir?"

"Yes," he said, with a small smile. "Though it would be laughably formal to refer to me that way; I am no one of importance. You would humiliate me, were you to say that in public."

I sensed a continuing trend of emphasis these lepuline placed on the use of names and titles. Personal names were polite, full names were formal, positions were denigrating. Rather unlike imperial customs, which abhorred the use of personal names even among friends; such intimacy was only for family members and mates. Calling one's friends by title was common to the point of a norm, with the public name as a qualifier and clarifier. "What is the Holsfir clan known for?"

"Mining, mostly. The name is drawn from the Sfirot, a mountain range in the west which you've likely seen on a map."

"Rings a bell," I replied.

"We produce more than eighty percent of the hematite mined in the Federation, and by extension, the iron smelted. We also have a sizeable trade in minor gemstones, granite, tin, and mercury, as well as small amounts of other metals. The quartz windows in the council chambers are from the Sfirot, though obviously the glass in here is not. There is a limited trade in furs and leathers, and our principal crop export is buckwheat flour. Possibly the source of your breakfast, in fact."

"Indeed. What brought you to the capital?"

"A polite demeanor and a good head for numbers," he said, with a smirk. "Beyond that, I fear, is my business."

I blanched. "I beg your pardon. I meant no offense, I assure you."

That curious look again. "You caused none."

Rather than further pry at him, I shifted topics. "In that case, I suppose you're a member of the northernmost ethnic group?"

"Westernmost, actually. The Sfirot were settled by the Ancesi, who originate in the southwest, our other densely populated region. Northerners like myself are called Kree-Ancesi, and are the furthest removed from the main Ancesi groups; we are considered outsiders by most of them, heh-heh. Compared to other groups, we are generally taller and less inclined to coloration, having ashy complexions like mine, as well as thicker and longer fur. All the western ethnic groups have a particular build, which is difficult to describe, but distinctive in comparison to easterners, as well as rather longer ears and shorter muzzles. A myriad of other distinctions, as well. You will likely be able to see them in time, and with the chance to compare me to other individuals."

I leaned back in my chair (a rather awkward motion, on account of my arms). "You're awfully free with this information, Mohjir. To put it plainly, were our roles reversed, I would be much more uncomfortable discussing matters such as these among my own people."

"Indeed?" He fixed me with a solid look. "And why is that?"

"A somewhat... unfortunate history of racism, of course," I chuckled awkwardly. "All resolved now, of course, but, well, a culture labors to escape such things. Ethnicity is not considered a polite topic of discussion in the Empire, particularly not things such as... physical characteristics."

"I see." Mohjir frowned, pawing at his chin. "Well, I cannot say my kind has had a similar experience, but it occurs to me to suggest that you might exercise caution discussing religion with my people. Before federation, a great many of our wars were religious in nature, and the wounds have only scarred over with time. I feel we understand each other in that way."

It hadn't occurred to me to ask about religion just yet, but I had no doubt it would have soon, likely at an inopportune moment. "Thank you for the warning," I said. "Fortunately, the Empire is a very multicultural place, and its government is used to accommodating many different religions. I am... flexible, shall we say. I have attended many ceremonies of many different groups across my postings, and found some meaning in all of them, but I follow the traditional rites in my private life."

The lepuline chuckled. "Your views would be nigh-revolutionary in one of my people, but of course, we expect to allow for your differences. I am certain if you wish to observe any of our ceremonies, you will be welcome to. I do not practice, nor do many others in the capital; my people's discomfort with discussing the matter has lead to a certain lack of spirituality in recent generations. In the west and south you'll find more open displays of our two major religions." He hesitated. "Which brings to mind, should you require any particular items to practice whichever forms of worship you desire, we are prepared to accommodate you."

"I have what few items I need on my ship," I replied. "Assuming, of course, I am allowed to access it. The spirits will simply have to forgive my lack of diligence, if this situation continues at any length. At some point I expect I will need to acquire more incense, but I have enough for several months, at least. I will have little use for such things without the use of my paws, however, which I would very much like for other reasons."

"Ah, yes," Mohjir sighed, looking down at me (I crossed my legs). "I will inquire into those matters for you in Council today."

"Please convey my humble irritation and extreme urgency, and express the fact that I do not find the current situation even remotely acceptable. Rather, it is intensely and incessantly humiliating." I hesitated. "Ah, without being too specific."

The lepuline flashed me a weak smile. "I will disseminate your disquiet without discussing the details."

I shifted restlessly, trying to adjust my arms so they were more comfortable. "I appreciate that. Now, do you suppose we could turn to the Council..."

---

If their speech patterns annoy you, I completely understand. I've written much more opaque speech styles in the past, but I've been realizing that's not the most accessible for readers, even if it's fun for me as a linguist, so I've been trying to tone it down while still giving them both some distinct 'flavors'.

See y'all in two weeks.