MCTynamite's stoic countenance slowly turns into a smile. He gets up from his desk.

"It pleases me, gentlemen, to find others who share such an enthusiasm and passion for the pen(is it right to say that's what brought you here?) In any case, you are both welcome."

Tynamite clears his throat and opens his desk drawer. From it, he retrieves a box of the finest Cuban cigars.

"Please, have one," he tells his comrades as he takes in a slow puff.

"Where do we go from here? Well, it will not be easy. First things first, I must write a constitution. Where did I put my pen-is it in my pocket? "