Author's notes: Disclaimer: I am like Suzanne Collins in that I'm female. The dissimilarities, however, are stunning.

Thanks to all who reviewed:

CrazyJ888, a loyal and constant reviewer, always ready with helpful suggestions. Thank you very much.

kittykatz101, very helpful with constructive criticism.

Guest, who requested Temp. I will try to fulfill that next chapter. Soorrryy. Thought I'd do it this chapter, but it turned out over nine hundred words already and this part was supposed to be a 'previous.' It might be a bit embarrassing if the intro is longer than the main part of the chapter.

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Gregor wasn't a nervous or shy person naturally. He'd never gotten bullied, he could beat most people in a fight, and he'd spent a year living with royalty. So he could handle himself in most situations.

But meeting the President of the United States was different. The President wasn't a kid. He didn't need to fight to overpower Gregor. And he held the fate of Regalia in his hands. All good reasons to be quite nervous, especially as Gregor wasn't sure that he hadn't broken any laws by not telling the authorities about the underland.

It didn't help that his side hurt like a horse had kicked him in it(Gregor hadn't wanted to take painkillers for fear that they might dull his mind) or that he was completely alone. And, in this state of mind, Gregor walked into the presence of the secretary of the Commander in Chief of the United States.

"The President will see you now." She said calmly, without looking up from her paperwork. Gregor had often wondered if it was a secretary's job to unnerve people. She was proving him right, acting as though he, and the two guards flanking her, didn't exist. He nodded, trying not to betray his inner turmoil, and headed into the room of doom, (otherwise known as the executive office, Capitol Building, New York. The oval office was a bit too far away for a Regalian and the President had come to New York instead.)

The President turned out to be smaller than Gregor had imagined him, gray-headed, fit, slightly balding. He was still tall, probably almost six feet standing, and he had a handsome face, but he was nowhere near as imposing as he had looked on television. He wore a formal blue suit with a red tie (the real kind, not a clip-on), and wire-framed glasses. He was also smiling, which took a lot off of Gregor's mind.

After a simple greeting, he sat down behind a huge writing desk, indicating that Gregor should do the same (in a seat in front of the desk), and shuffled some papers out of the way. Gregor could have sworn that he saw a 'Colli-' half-hidden in a manila folder.

"So." The President began. "I'll cut right to the chase. What can you tell me of the underland? Specifically the delegates who will be arriving here tomorrow."

"What do you want to know, sir? Because I'm afraid that I don't know much, myself. I was down there for one year some fifteen years ago. Not a lot of time to get acquainted with everything."

"I want to know how to get a treaty with a people who have been living under New York for nearly four centuries without being detected and I want to know if they'll consider joining us as a state." The President answered flatly.

"Well, I can give you a definite no to that second question. They have a working system, for the first time in centuries from what I've heard from Ripred, and they're not going to give it up all that easily. Regalians have a very military and independent culture and they prefer that it not be bothered or changed. Besides, we overlanders have a hard enough time accepting black humans in some places. What is a racist going to do with an eight foot tall rat who expects to be accepted into society? And bats're a pretty common phobia."

"I thought that might be a problem. But honestly, if we could get some of those rats into the military..." his voice trailed away.

"Ripred and Lapblood might be okay with that- they'd let you have volunteers anyway, but the humans won't be a lot of use above ground. Sunburn too easily. Fliers, sorry, I mean bats-"

"No, call them that, I'll have to get used to it eventually, according to reports."

"Well, fliers get along with humans quite well and always have. They might volunteer to join you. Especially if they bond with some overlanders."

"And what exactly is bonding?"

"It's a ceremony, rather like marriage, but much shorter." He frowned. "The closest comparison I can think of is a blood brother- you each swear to save each other as- as you would save yourself." His voice cracked slightly. It had been many years, but Gregor had never quite gotten over Ares' death.

The President was perceptive. "You had a bond."

"Yes."

He nodded and did not inquire further. "Do any other races bond?"

"Not really. I mean, Queen Luxa bonded with Ripred, but it was more a matter of convenience than anything else. Last time I was down there, it was very rare to see any bond but a flier and a human. I think that the bond with Ripred might have been the only exception."

"Why?"

"You've heard our nickname, the killers. We humans have a very bad history with the rest of the races. So do the gnawers and spinners, but we humans are the worst. We're the only ones to drive an entire race almost to extinction because of their lands. It was four hundred years back, but there have been more- recent transgressions. Most notably the garden of Hesperides. Do not ask about that during the treaty if it happens to come up. Just don't. It's an extremely touchy subject."

"What happened?"

"Some things are better left unsaid. It was a 'casualty' in the war of the humans and the gnawers and I'll leave it at that."

"Ah. Trail of tears?"

"As I said, it's best left alone."

"What of the other races?"

So Gregor told him of the races and cultures of Regalia, some of the history, the major land divisions. Two hours later, they were done talking and Gregor was hoarse. The President had a final question though.

"The elderly man with the prosthetic leg. Mareth. Why did he tell me to please not serve shrimp and cream sauce when I asked about what to serve tomorrow?"

"General Mareth does not want you to think that they're a bunch of savages. That illusion would be immediately dispelled if Ripred was allowed near a bowl of shrimp and cream sauce."

"He hates it?"

"He adores it. I would swear that he dreams about it at night."

The President laughed and dismissed him.

This was a sort-of filler chapter. In the next chapter, President meets delegates. I'm not sure how that'll turn out yet. It's kinda a complicated thing. Thanks for reading, more thanks for REVIEWING! I read all my reviews many times over and constantly check for them. It's something of an obsession. It's not healthy, of course, but it keeps me out of the asylum. Help keep me out of the fashionable jacket with the sleeves that buckle in the back. REVIEW! Pleassse?