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The somber oranges and reds of the sunset fell through the window pane of Earl Darrel Macey's study window, cigar smoke from a Cuban cigar creating wisps of smoke that linger in the air. His estate had just been the host of the ever important annual meeting of Fourth Tribe of Polaris leaders, and though it was scheduled at the same time every year, the timing couldn't be any better considering the state of the Empire of late. His job as Head of Economic Actions on behalf of the central government had been stretched thin, well, stretched thin for his subordinates, but his hand DID hurt from signing so many authorizations from the military for additional emergency funding. The military bureaucrats were always grateful when they were well supplied with capital.

Macey snubbed his cigar into the nearby ashtray, adjusting his suit as he readied his phone, not his official phone though, the one that the government had no idea about. Ever addicted, Macey has subconsciously put a new cigerette into his mouth as he dialed his contact in the Royal Imperial Guard. As the ringtone went on, he looked down at the gumshoe notepad he had been writing on during the meetings with the Fourth Tribe Aristocracy, red bold letters writting out "Prepare for the Worst, Use your Contact" sighing deeply as he'd been pushed into a corner in a short timespan. He was all for the plan, he just didn't want to deal with all the bullshit that would be uncanned quite yet, can you blame a man?

The tone eventually beeped, a irritated authoritative figure on the other line drumming up with a solid, "Who in Lucifer's red ass is this? If this is the Ablyan scam center again I swear tha-"

Macey's smooth and sultry tone, only made better by the smoking (somehow) piped up in a docile and calming manner, "Ah ah ah dear.. it's a friend of the Morning Star or a late how-do-you-do... I need a favor and I need it now.. you can.. imagine why.." he spoke with aristocratic charm and a layer of nicotine charisma, as if you could hear the decadence in his voice.

The once boisterous and rabid Royal Imperial Officer hushed quickly, though their voice still had a bite within it as it was long after operating hours, "Let me guess.. you need that letter..."

"Mhmm... and then you are off the hook for awhile dear... I need to establish some.. connections with that lovely Kingdom of Florentinz... never been actually, beautiful place I hear..." his tone was jovially and playful in the last part, as if they were having a absolutely normal conversation.

"And what should I ask for in such a letter..." the now merely tired Royal Guard huffed with a latent shame to their future actions.

"Tell them.. we are going to need a.. 'helping hand' in these uncertain times soon.." Macey flicked his cigarettes into the trash bin next to him as he let out a light but starkly ambivalent chuckle to his partner in crime.

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A letter is sent to the Royal Assembly of Florentinz on behalf of the Head of Economic Actions, Earl Darrel Macey, inquiring for 'aid in bringing balance to Polaris' and further private communications with the highest available representative. The letter has all of the proper diplomatic stamps and sigils, though no record of its existence would exist within Polaris after it was sent off.