Ambassador Swiftwing pushed the door of the meeting chambers open and stopped short, his ceremonial guard nearly crashing into his backside. Instead of the pomp he was expecting, he found himself in a room devoid of any fancy ponies. A simple desk was tucked discreetly off to the right of the entrance, far enough back so that a line could form, and portable benches were arranged in neat rows. True, they were covered in plush cushions, but a portable bench was a portable bench.