[u][color=662d91][b]Robert Edwin House - President of the F.Z.M. [/b][/color]
[/u]

[i]Thomas Milburne.[/i]

The name still bounced around the corridors of Robert's mind like a stray ping-pong ball. "How they hell did they learn of that name?" His digitally-degenerated voice echoed through the cocktail lounge of the Lucky 38. The King returned, gingerly stepping out of the elevator like a hound who'd just been just been reprimanded by his owner.

"What name?" asked The King as he made his way in front of Mr. House's monitor. 

"There's a strange family staying here, your kingship." Robert referred to The King by title in a condescendingly sarcastic manner.

"Oh?"

"Something's off about this. How the hell do they know that name? It's been erased from history. Only I should know it."

"You haven't told me their name."

"Unimportant. I want you to watch how a real diplomat operates today. You'll get to sit in the Gourmand and keep your mouth firmly shut while I navigate through the mess you've made."

The King folded his arms. "[i]You[/i] try dealing with that fucking buffoon of a president, boss. I was thrown unarmed into the cage of a hungry tiger."

"Your analogy is cute, your kingship, but inaccurate. You were a lightweight who was miscast into the ring with a heavyweight. You still don't have the muscle for it. Charisma and sensibility aren't a switch to be turned on and off."

"Fair."

"You'll learn," House said reassuringly. 

The King fiddled with the pin on one of his sleeves and ran his fingers through his greased hair. "Round two?"

"Round two."

The King nodded and exited through the elevator.

"Jane, arrange for the conference room on the 27th floor to be occupied by guests. Upon the Borgios' arrival to the casino, they will be guided to it and offered refreshments, should they require."

House re-directed his signal to a large terminal that had been placed on the end of the conference table in the Ultra-Luxe. It wasn't long before The King himself arrived to the Gourmand, sitting in the chair closest to Robert's end of the table. Many of the remaining delegates had gone home. This was a sign of failure -- two wars had been exacerbated in one day of diplomacy, and many factions were forced to return to their warfronts. Round two [i]had[/i] to be an improvement. The well-being of the wasteland demanded it. 

Robert House's face flickered onto the screen of the terminal. 

[i][b]"Please, everyone, take your seats. The next wing of the New Vegas Convention is underway."[/b][/i]