A Day in a Life (Closed. Tyran Only)

[Springstile II]

Nothing to see here. Go away.

[East Aerick]

Dunkyle
Protectorate of East Aerick

Written by Syara


First Minister Ethna Reachtain couldn’t help but notice the overcast that had rolled in three days prior had not let up yet. It reduced the sun to nothing more than slight patches of light amid the dark grey clouds that hungover head, with not even a single sunbeam reaching down to illuminate the port city of Dunkyle. Several miles away, just visible on the horizon, Reachtain could make out the outlines of dull gray warships as the Syarans continued to offload their invasion force onto her homeland.

Because at the end of the day, that’s all the Syarans were. Invaders, foreign devils coming to desecrate Aerick, just as the Azurlavains had over a year ago. Reachtain knew she was watching another betrayal unfold before her, as Aerick was once more made into the plaything of larger powers in Tyran. The Syarans would talk all day of their commitment to Aerickian independence, and their pleasant relations before the Azzies had invaded, but that was just their way. Syarans would smile at you even as they sliced open your belly. They were greedy, materialistic snakes that cared only about money and furthering their own financial interests.

The First Minister had made none of her personal views clear when she first met with the Syaran representatives, opting instead for smiles and handshakes while she lied through her teeth about the importance of Syaran comradery in these times, and her thankfulness for the Commonality’s opposition to the Azurlavian invasion. It was all garbage. The only difference between the Syarans and the Azzies were that the Syarans were subtler about their intentions.

It was easy to tell who the foreigners were on the island. Both the Azurlavians and the Syarans lacked the natural grace that came with being a native Aerickian. The Azurlavians were obvious with their firm, martial pride, the thousand-yard stare that seemed to be the dominant gaze among their people. They trained and lived for war, and was clear by their body language, blunt and straightforward, like their intentions. The Syarans were more like jackals, never standing in the open, slithering and crawling their way around until they found the right opportunity. They were both vultures, picking apart her home for whatever resources they could strip from the island.

Reachtain dreamed of a day when both Azurlavians and Syarans would be driven from the island, returned to their homes, never to bother her people again. But such fantasies were best reserved for the recesses of her mind. She knew that for now, there was nothing she could do but grind her teeth and accept their occupation, while hoping it would be ultimately temporary. There was little else she could do for the time being but play the part of optimistic collaborator.

She knew that was the term used to describe her in some circles. Others preferred shorter, cruder nicknames for her, but there was no pleasing everybody, and there was no ability to explain herself to everybody either. Reachtain knew that further resistance was pointless. The Syarans and Azurlavians had divided Aerick by themselves, ripping apart families, clans, and homesteads with no concern for the centuries of history they were destroying. But what could be done? Aerick had for so long been a shrimp caught between a battle of whales, and this was no exception. Even as her people cried out in shock and shame, Reachtain knew this was the best she could work with right now. Later, it might be different. But for now, she just wanted to carry on with as little violence as possible. It would solve nothing, even as the Sisterhood left graffiti across the alleyways claiming otherwise.

The Sisterhood. Part of Reachtain sympathized with the rebellious elements still operating in Aerick’s highlands. But the logical part of her mind knew that their efforts were futile. The Syarans had spent much of the last decade stomping out insurgencies in their own backyard. If half the stories Reachtain had heard were true, the Syarans would have little qualms about crushing more asymmetrical warriors, even if they bloodied entire villages in the process. That’s what Reachtain wanted to avoid. More innocent people dying. Her empathy, for now at least, surpassed her patriotism.

With an inaudible sigh, she turned her gaze away from the horizon and refocused on the other occupants of the room. Four other figures stood on the other side of the room that served as her office. It was easy to tell they were Syarans from their features; round faces, high cheek bones, dominant foreheads, and straight noses. They stood in an informal pattern, three of them wearing the black fatigues of State Security and Intelligence, the fourth wearing the uniform of a general officer of the Syaran National Army.

If the Syarans had been trying to appeal to Aerick’s matriarchal culture by appoint a woman as the military governor, Reachtain really wished they had reconsidered. Lt. General Danica Madunić was easily one of Reachtain’s least favorite Syarans. If it wasn’t her witch like appearance, or voice that sounded like glass being broken, it was her complete disinterest in the fate of Aerick’s people. Reachtain could hardly stomach the women, so much so that she almost preferred the SSI spooks that constantly slid around her office. There were three of them, Crv, Utvara, and Zmija, and while Reachtain didn’t speak Syaran very well, she knew these were certainly not their real names. Crv was the apparent leader, a short man who seemed to always wear a smile that seemed entirely disingenuous. She had met him once before, two days prior when the first Syaran troops had arrived in aircraft at practically every major and minor airfield across East Aerick. Just 24 hours later several large transport ships had docked at Dunkyle, off-loading hundreds more Syarans, including armored vehicles and tons of supplies. They were crawling all over East Aerick now, thousands strong, and Reachtain was told to expect even more.

“If you’re done admiring the view First Minister, we have some things to discuss.” Lt. General Madunić couldn’t apparently be bothered with cordial introductions.

Reachtain smiled in response, even as she wished the Syaran officer would leave and never return. “Of course, General. I’m all ears.”

If Madunić had detected sarcasm in Reachtain’s response, she didn’t react to it. “As I informed your chief of Security, our current priority is taking control of all major infrastructure elements, including power plants, bridges, and centers of political, economic, and cultural significance. Elements of the 75th Infantry Division will continue to arrive over the next few days, and while border security is paramount at this time, they will first have to ensure all major population centers are accounted for. For now, what units of the 98th Mechanized Infantry Brigade that are currently in-country will take over for ensuring the neutral zone is maintained. We expect full compliance with from local law enforcement and political leadership.”

“Of course.” Reachtain replied smoothly. “I have already contacted mayors and police chiefs across East Aerick and have been assured that local leadership will cooperate with your troops. If any issues arise, I’m sure we can work them out.”

“For their sake, I hope there are no issues.” Madunić said sternly. “My troops have their orders and understand the priority of their tasks. They will not tolerate interference or unnecessary hinderances.”
Her tone could not have been clearer, but Reachtain did not display any emotional reaction. “I understand General. I share your desire to have this transfer of control go over as smoothly as possible.”

Reachtain wasn’t necessarily lying, but she concealed her true emotions behind a mask of pleasant cooperation. She knew that her fellow Aerickians wouldn’t be much pleased to see their Azurlavians occupiers replaced by Syaran counterparts, especially once they realized that their country was about to be unceremoniously divided in half. But Reachtain genuinely hoped that things went smoothly. Aerick had seen enough bloodshed in recent times. The Syarans certainly wouldn’t hesitate to spill more if they so desired.

“I have some things to attend to with my sub commanders.” Madunić accounced. “I will confer with them and ensure that our operations are proceeding as planned. Once complete, I will return and we can discuss the further detailing of the relationship between the Syaran Occupational Authority and the Protectorate’s native government.”

Reachtain nodded. “I look forward to your return, General.”

Once more, Madunić gave no inclination as to whether she picked up on the First Minister’s false optimism. She simply turned on her heels, and walked out, accompanied by two of the SSI agents. Only Crv remained behind with Reachtain.

“Piece of work, isn’t she?” Crv said with a sly smile as the door to the office closed.

Reachtain couldn’t tell if the Syaran agent was trying to make conversation or just masquerading as a potential friend. The Syaran spook didn’t give off an air of friendliness in the slightest; Reachtain personally thought he radiated sliminess and would be more at home in a sewer than above ground.

“I’m sure the General just wants to accomplish her mission.” Reachtain replied calmly.

Crv’s smile widened slightly. “Don’t we all?”

Reachtain wasn’t interested in more conversation with the Syaran than necessary. “Is there something more we need to discuss?”

Crv’s smile didn’t falter in the slightest, but his eyes seemed anything but friendly. “Not now. I’ve got some things to attend to, but I’ll be sure to stop by later.”

Reachtain only nodded in response and waited for Crv to leave. His eyes lingered on her longer than she felt comfortable with, but soon enough he had turned around and made his way out of the office.

Alone at last, Reachtain slid into the chair behind her desk and rubbed her eyes with both hands. She had a feeling in her stomach that the comings weeks and months would be very taxing on her.

[Allamunnika]

City of Braandurburg
Tyrrslynd, Republic of Allamunnika
February 12th, 2015

It was the rattling that woke Erik up. It had roused him on Wednesday, and Tuesday, and Monday, and according to Bruni the weather girl, it was quite likely that it would do so on Friday, as well. He hauled his head off of the nearly-flattened pillow that he kept between his arm and his head at night. A glance at the old alarm clock sitting on his nightstand told him that he had actually slightly overslept. Odd. Perhaps he had forgotten to set the alarm last night? The gloomy clouds blotting out what would have already been faint early morning sun certainly had not helped.

He levered himself out of the little twin bed that took up maybe a third of the room and staggered over to the lone window out of this corner of the apartment. As the rattling had already told him, it was raining steadily, rustling onto the street, plopping against asphalt muffling all other noise over the not-quite-awakened city. Groaning, Erik turned and ambled over to the door to his room. Still groggy, he fumbled with the dented and pitted knob before he managed to twist it, simultaneously leaning into the door shoulder-first. The door swung open and he stumbled as his weight went out from under him, having to basically run to get his feet back under him. The fall-run took him the roughly fifteen feet between his door and the kitchen that formed the center of the apartment.

He was not the first to arrive; his parents, both already dressed for work, were sitting at a plain wooden table barely large enough to fit four people without them tripping over each other. His sister Haley, three years his junior, was still standing, and was clearly finishing a short trip to a worn wooden cabinet to grab salt and pepper shakers. Haley was only a few inches shorter than Erik, despite the age gap, and her hair, the same shade of brown as his, was only a few inches longer. Before they’d hit puberty, the only way to tell them apart had been their relative age; they looked surprisingly alike for non-twins, even for siblings.

He drew some small relief from the fact that she was also still in her pajamas, a pair of loose, plaid sweatpants and a tee-shirt. So at least he was not that late rising. Still, it was enough that his father, already dressed for his shift as a bus driver, gave him a small smile and said “Glad you’ve decided to join us.” Erik sighed lightly.

“Sorry, Dad,” he said. “I’ll make sure my alarm is actually set next time.” His father nodded, giving his son a reassuring smile that showed off less-than-perfect, if more-or-less straight teeth. “Also, good morning.”

“I know you will. After all, it’s your turn to cook breakfast tomorrow,” he added, teasing.

“Fred, don’t be a jerk. Come on, sit down. There’s enough scramble left,” his mother shot back, prompting Erik to walk over to the table, taking the last remaining spot, at the long side of the table opposite from his sister. His father and mother occupied the two heads of the table, such as they were, and there was enough room, if everyone squished, to put two more people at the table, one on each long side. Erik looked at the plates and bowls on the table, making note of the morning’s menu.

“Hey, honey, are you going to be able to go to the post office before you head home today?” Jenna asked Fred. Fred nodded back. “Would you be able to deposit those checks on the counter when you do?” Another nod. “Thanks.”

Sure enough, the centerpiece was a scramble, common enough across Allamunnika. This particular one had the requisite scrambled eggs (Erik would estimate three or four, at most), mixed up with slices of corned beef and sliced potatoes. They had been combined with pieces of onion and tomato, along with a sprinkle of cheese, making for a pretty good mixed dish that stretched out several ingredients for a fairly large portion. A few apples had been cored and sliced, as well, to help add a little more sweetness to the morning spread. Erik knew that, according to the rotation they had used to split chores since he, and then his sister, had hit secondary school, that it had been his parent’s turn to make breakfast, and, as usual, the results were delicious, even given the limitations they were under.

Erik took the serving spoon and loaded two spoonful’s, one entirely full, the other only halfway full, onto his plate. He picked up his fork and knife and tucked in, pulling a forkful up to his mouth. The scramble had the right combination of salt and umami flavors, cut by the acid and cleaner flavors of the vegetables, all given some satisfying weight by the potatoes.

Erik looked over to his mother, who was also already dressed for work. She had recently taken a secretarial job at one of the logistics companies in town. The intent was to give the family more disposable income, and, ultimately, to give the Baeryng parents some extra money to pad their retirement allotment. Although Fred, their father, had been able to support the family during Erik and Haley’s childhoods based on his pay from the city, combined with child stipends, there had been times when funds had gotten a little tight; the family had never faced eviction or real hunger, but there were a few times where the margin for error had gotten rather thin. Things were definitely better now that neither parent had to supervise their now-teenaged children.

The two parents could not have looked more typically-Allamunnic if they had tried. Both had moderately-hued brown hair (Fred’s was darker, although dabbled with salt, whereas Jenna’s was more of a proper chestnut), and they were both within their sexes’ respective average heights, with Fred standing around 173 centimeters and Jenna at about 164. Fred was fairly slender, but had developed a bit of a gut over the last decade or so, and Jenna had once had a medium build that had plumped with age. Fred was just over 40, and Jenna was a year younger, but the strains of parenthood had aged them somewhat prematurely; neither had the burned out look sometimes seen among the hardest living, but neither would they be confused with their wedding photos, either, each looking close to half a decade older than they really were.

Still, Erik had always noticed they smiled easily enough, and today was no exception. Sipping her coffee (instant powder scooped into hot milk, most likely), eyes fixed on the newspaper they still got delivered to their door every morning. She looked up when Erik started eating, giving a small smile at their eldest child’s voracious chomping.

The two had grown up in a smaller town on the coastal plains, and some of their practices and expectations had clearly not changed. Erik was reminded of that when his mother spoke, humor in her voice. “You know, I talked to Maddie Kaarlsunn’s mother yesterday…” Haley tried very hard not to start laughing, and Erik rolled his eyes and sighed. He strongly suspected that his mother kept trying to play matchmaker for her kids at least partially in an elaborate attempt to embarrass them, a conclusion only strengthened by the amused smile she gave as she looked at Erik.

Still, there was some seriousness to the attempts; it was how Fred and Jenna had met, after all, introduced by their parents trying to get them hitched. “You know she wouldn’t mind in the slightest if you called on her.”

“Mum, do we seriously have to talk about this? Now, at the least?” She laughed in response, shaking her head. Erik resumed eating, respite earned. With some amusement, he watched as his mother turned her attention to Haley.

“As for you,” she said, her smile losing some of its whimsical nature, “make sure you actually sign up for extracurriculars.” Haley looked alarmed, freezing mid-bite, while Erik smiled. “I’m serious. Evaluation boards look at those when determining placements. You don’t want to end up like your brother, right? All set up for conscription?” Erik’s smile vanished almost at once.

In fairness to Haley, Erik thought, a lack of extracurricular or club activities would not necessarily consign someone to conscription. With some guilt, he considered that his prospective placement had more to do with his lackluster academic performance over his secondary school career. Try as he might over the years, Erik just had not been able to muster up enough care to really apply himself to his studies, and he could not honestly say that the prospect of getting conscripted into national service bothered him.

“Not to worry, Mum, I’ve been talking to the recruitment chair for the Future Engineers Society,” she answered hurriedly, trying to quell their mother. “And the student organization fair is next week. I’ve got a list and everything.” Assuaged, Jenna nodded, standing up and taking her clean plate to the sink. She was joined moments later by Fred, who added his own plate to the sink.

“Make sure to do the dishes before you two head to school, okay?” Fred told them as he and Jenna walked back to their room to finish their preparations for work. “Do you two want anything specific for dinner tonight?” Both Haley and Erik shook their heads, and with that, their parents left the room.

“Thanks for nothing,” Haley said almost immediately to Erik, more than a little grumpy. “Way to throw me under the bus.”

“Oh come on,” Erik shot back between mouthfuls. “Mum has more than enough disappointment to go around. It’s not as if that got her off my back anyway.” As he scraped the last morsels off his plate, he turned his attention to the next order of business. “So are you okay with doing the dishes while I make our lunches?”

Haley shrugged. “Yeah, that’s fine. What are you going to make?” She grabbed both Erik’s plate and her own, along with their forks and took them over to the single-bay sink, while her brother walked over to the fridge, grabbing a cutting board out of a drawer on the way.

Erik pulled a loaf of bread from out of the pantry, and from the fridge, a plastic container of chicken salad that had been made the previous day, a bag holding the slices of a tomato, and another holding some separated leaves of lettuce, along with a jar of mayonnaise. The dark whole-wheat bread formed the foundation of the four chicken-salad sandwiches that Erik assembled while Haley scrubbed at the four plates with a sponge, scraping away the remains of their food with the rough side of the sponge before rinsing them in hot water.

The sandwiches done, Erik filled five mugs, four with water, one with milk, and placed them one after another into the family’s microwave. The thing was a few years old, so it took a little longer to warm up, but Erik was able to allocate the cook time appropriately to heat the water. When the microwave beeped, he fetched all of the mugs out, adding the appropriate measure of instant coffee to them. Stirring them one after another, he watched as all three mugs’ contents turned a nutty brown color, and, that done, he poured the water-based brews into small thermoses. Erik took a breather, sipping the one he had made with hot milk, getting his caffeine kick for the day. When Haley stepped away from the sink, he took the opportunity to juggle his coffee with washing up four apples, setting them with the growing lunches.

Finally, he grabbed a package of potato crisps for each of them, relatively small “snack”-sized packages, as well as grabbing the necessary reusable coldpacks for each box. Haley had since finished the dishes and had run off to the bathroom that the siblings shared to begin washing up. As Erik finished packing their modest lunches into rigid plastic lunchboxes, he heard the water in the shower start running. Seeing as he would need to wait for Haley to finish before he could wash up, Erik also grabbed four refillable water bottles, filling each one at the sink tap before capping them and placing each one next to a lunch box. His work done, Erik walked to the hallway, calling to his parents.

“Going to get dressed. Lunches are on the table. Have a good day!” With that, he walked over to the shared bathroom, popping the door slightly open, reaching in towards the countertop near the door, grabbing a tube of toothpaste, along with his toothbrush, off of the counter. He withdrew without ever having looked into the room, shutting the door behind him, and then returning to the kitchen. He wet his toothbrush, spread a small measure of toothpaste onto it, and began to brush his teeth, taking time to reach every part of his mouth; he had had a few cavities filled before, and he had no desire to repeat the experience. During the process, he heard the bathroom door open. His sister was fairly quick in the shower, thankfully, so he would be able to wash once he finished brushing.

After he spat out the remnants of the toothpaste into the sink, rinsing the sink and his mouth with a cupped hand of water, he walked over to the bathroom, leaving his toothbrush and toothpaste, before ducking into his room. He quickly pulled off his pajamas, wrapping a towel around his waist, grabbing a washcloth, and returning to the now-vacant bathroom. He closed the door behind him, noticing as he did that his sister had done the same thing he had, taking her toothbrush and the toothpaste to the kitchen. He hung his towel on a towel rack bolted to the wall, tossed his washcloth into the shower. Before stepping into the shower, he made a point of utilizing the toilet ahead of the shower. He closed his eyes, braced, and, when he had finished, pushed the button that used a cold shot of water to help clean up the results of that detour.

With that, he stepped into the tub which had had the shower head built onto it, pulling the curtain closed behind him and turning the nozzle, eyes closed, braced for a shock of cold water; the water coming out the shower tap invariably would start off cold, and Erik never used it long enough for it to get hot. He spun around under the cold torrent, wetting himself and the washcloth, before shutting off the faucet. He grabbed a bar of soap, rubbing it inside the washcloth to lather it up before replacing the bar in a plastic tray attached to the wall. Using the cloth, Erik scrubbed and cleaned his body, making sure to hit every area he could readily reach before dropping the washcloth on the floor of the tub. He squirted a small dab of shampoo into his hand, rubbing it through his wet hair, making a point of keeping the lather out of his eyes. When he had cleaned to his satisfaction, he braced himself again and turned the tap nob again, dousing himself with water once more. He rinsed himself as quickly as he reasonable could while still removing the soap from his body, then quickly shut the water off, stepping out of the shower and grabbing his towel. He hung the now rinsed washcloth on a drying rack, and toweled off, before wrapping his lower half in the towel and quickly returning to his room, damp feet sliding slightly on the tile floor in the hallway.

Like most high school students in Allamunnika, Erik had to wear a uniform to classes. It was a simple enough uniform, essentially business wear, consisting of a pair of charcoal-gray slacks, a gray shirt, a dark green jacket or (as Erik had opted for) sweater-vest, and a dark green-and-gray diagonally-striped tie. As he did his tie in a half-windsor knot, Erik realized he had neglected to scrape the scraggly stubble that passed for a high schooler’s beard that morning and sighed. There was nothing for it now, he did not have time to go shave it now, but he was sure he would get called out for his unkemptness. With a sigh, he pulled on his shoes and tied up his laces, grabbing his messenger bag and stepping out of his room.

He walked down the hall, shoes thudding on the tile, and walked to the kitchen. Two of the lunchboxes he had prepared were gone, indicating that their parents had gone to work, and Haley was waiting for him. During the colder months, the women’s uniform for their school was similar to the male uniform; a jacket, shirt, and tie or neck bow in similar color scheme, with either pants or a longer skirt. Haley had opted for the pants, making her outfit virtually the same as Erik’s. She had a shoulder-hung totebag sitting on the ground next to where she stood, waiting, which she used in place of a backpack. As he entered, she was placing the third of the lunchboxes into her bag.

“All ready to head out?” she asked as he placed the last lunchbox in his bag. Erik nodded in reply. “Great.” Almost instantly, Haley was at the door to the family’s flat, clearly ready to get a move on. She pushed open the door (a fairly heavy, steel utilitarian thing, about as old as the rest of the building), holding it open for Erik. Once he had crossed the threshold, they allowed it to fall shut, and Erik, pulling a spare housekey out of his pocket, locked the deadbolt on the door.

The hallway they walked out into was spare, floored with plain tile, and with plain, off-white-painted cinderblock walls, combined with fluorescent, plastic-covered light fixtures on the fairly-low ceiling. The hallway looked like it could reasonably be hosed out if it needed cleaning, with light only coming in from windows at each end of the hall. Erik and Haley walked over to a central stairwell and began the five-story trek down to street level. The stairwell had the same off-white painted cinderblock walls, and plain metal stairs had been covered with rubber covers to help traction when wet. Their footfalls echoed through the stairwell as the brother and sister walked down at a steady pace.

They reached the street-level door out of the stairwell, another heavy steel door with a small window reinforced with what appeared to be a steel lattice. Erik hauled the door open, holding it for Haley before following her out into the apartment building lobby. The lobby had a front desk, behind which were the postal boxes for the various tenants. An elderly receptionist sat at the desk, who looked like he might have been Arkoennite, nodded in acknowledgement at Erik and Haley as they walked toward the door. They returned the gesture, and then pushed open the building’s front door, beginning their commute in earnest.

Sure enough, it was raining, and it had been for some time. The street had settled into a soaked, rather than simply rain-slicked state, and the gloom was cut only by the still-lit street lights. As soon as they stepped out, they both pulled out personal umbrellas, deploying them almost immediately. They began walking south from the apartment building, along streets that were already reasonably crowded, making their way towards the train station.

As they walked, they started to be joined in their procession by a handful of other teenagers wearing similar uniforms. As they traveled the six blocks between the apartment building and the station, the knot of students passed by a number of similar apartments, most of which were refurbished buildings that had first been built in the large wave of post-war construction in the late 1940’s and early 1950’s. There were businesses situated in the bottom floors of several of the buildings and in other street-front slots, mostly stores of various kinds; a budget grocer here, a convenience store there, here a walk-in clinic, and there a family-owned drugstore. Many of them were just starting their own days; in the windows, people were clearly moving around, even if it would be another 30 or 40 minutes for most of them before they officially opened for the morning.

Other storefronts were already humming with their early morning rushes. There were two hole-in-the-wall diners that had been open, as far as Erik knew, all night long, catering to the night shifters, the drunks, and the heartbroken, plying them with greasy food that calmed the soul and filled the stomach. There was also the neighborhood’s post office, a florist, and a bookstore, all preparing for their days on that rain-soaked morning. The rain conferred a certain silence over what might have normally been a louder morning commute, but nobody seemed inclined to stop and talk. The area only rarely had panhandlers, and sure enough they were nowhere to be found that morning as they approached the station.

The station itself was an unimpressive bit of utilitarian architecture, practically a concrete bunker with ramps leading down into the bowels of the station. On the top of the station was the platform, connected by rails set on an elevated track platform. A black sign with white letters announced that this was the Edelstun station of the Unified Rail System of Andersburg & Braandurburg. Erik and Haley walked into the station, folding up their umbrellas once they were under the safe haven of the station’s roof.

They walked along the burnt orange of the hexagonal floor-tiles found throughout the URSAB system, slick with tracked-in water, past the boxy fare-card terminals, several of which had lines forming at them. Mercifully, both Erik and Haley were on the special student fare plan, in which they were able to pay for an entire month’s worth of two fares per day in advance, so they were able to pull their Regular Trip Cards (RTCs) out to scan at the turnstiles, allowing them through smoothly, with only a minor snarl prompted by some dunce who had never used the system before. Probably some foreign businessman, Erik thought sourly.

Once they were through the bare stainless-steel turnstiles, they were presented with options for getting topside to the train platform proper. Off to one side, there was an elevator, but it was encouraged that passengers refrain from using it so that it would be more readily available for the mobility-impaired riders. Otherwise, there was a pair of escalators, one moving up, one moving down, along with a pair of central staircases, ostensibly in the same configuration. In practice, the staircases wound up a bit messier with people moving upward and downward on both, but for the most part things moved smoothly even there.

The siblings opted for the escalator, staying to the left side and walking up in the continuous string of people doing the same. They made sure to keep moving; people tended to become vocally annoyed when the flow of traffic on the left side of an escalator was obstructed. In less than a minute (probably closer to thirty seconds), the two were up on the platform, waiting for an eastbound train. A light-up signboard informed them that the next train was about three minutes away, and Erik felt that that was likely accurate; you couldn’t quite set your watch by Allamunnic trains, but they were certainly reliable enough, accurate within about two minutes of their scheduled time.

While the two siblings stood on the platform, listening to the rain thump onto the roof erected over the platform, that platform steadily filled with people. It was not long before the low hum of conversation between friends and acquaintances began to fill the sodden morning air.

It only took a minute before familiar faces found them. At first, Erik did not notice the close approach, as packed as the platform was; the feeling of having people near at hand was fairly routine, even outside of rush hour train stations. But then there was a hand on his shoulder, and a presence at his left, almost shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Erik!” exclaimed a taller, blond-haired boy. He was wearing the same uniform as Erik, but was about a head taller, and definitely more muscular. There was a bright cheer in his blue-green eyes that seemed quite at odds with the weather, enhanced further by the cheerful smile plastered across his face. “Another fine morning, wouldn’t you say? Oh, hey, Haley.” Just as evident as his good humor was the sarcasm in his voice; clearly even he was not thrilled with Tyrrslynd’s nigh-constant rain.

“Morning, Wen,” Erik replied, his mood picking up slightly. “You’re sure cheerful. Is the weather any better up there?” Wen snorted a half-laugh.

“Screw you, shrimp,” Wen fired back, still laughing. “You forget that work-outs start today? Gotta get ready for the season!” Erik’s eyes widened. He had forgotten that workouts for the school’s gridiron club started that day. Wen noticed and laughed again. “You did forget, didn’t you?” Erik nodded back. He didn’t quite have his friend’s enthusiasm for the thing, although the news did make him somewhat happy; Erik liked gridiron, but Wendell Foster was considered a pretty high-ranked prospect, and there was a good chance he would get a developmental league contract once they graduated. Erik, far scrawnier, had little hope of continuing to play beyond secondary school.

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik noticed that Haley had found some of her own friends, and they had formed their own small knot of people, slowly drifting away from where Erik and Wen were standing. The gap where Haley had been was quickly occupied by other familiar faces. All of them were in the same uniform as Erik, Wen, and Haley, all clearly headed to the same place. The nearest announced her presence with a gentle prod to Erik’s arm. He looked over and did everything in his power to avoid turning red at the sight of the brown-eyed, slender, and rather pretty brunette looking up at him. “Heya,” she said, making eye contact.

Madeline Kaarlsunn (usually going by “Maddie”) had lived in the neighborhood for as long as Erik had, living in the next building over. They had been friends for as long as they could remember, and, truthfully, Erik rather liked her, platonically and otherwise. His resistance to their parents’ attempts to play matchmaker had more to do with resistance to parental interference than any issues with possibly dating Maddie. Of course, it was not going to go anywhere; Erik was likely to get conscripted at the end of the year, whereas Maddie was almost definitely university-bound. She had good things ahead of her, while Erik strongly-suspected he was destined to be nothing more than a drone.

Mercifully, she was getting the same pressure from the other side, and, while he was not able to conceal his embarrassment, it just caused her to chuckle. “Your parents give you a hard time this morning, too?” she asked. Erik nodded back weakly, and she laughed harder at that. “Same here.” They had bonded somewhat over the never-ending matchmaking attempts, which had been going on for the last two years, often trading horror stories of their awfully-embarrassing parents. It eased his embarrassment a little bit that she seemed to have some flushing in her face, as well, while discussing it.

Out past Maddie were two others. The nearer of the two was another boy, a few inches taller than Erik but even skinnier, with longer dark brown hair. He looked like he saw less sun than Erik and Wen, but he had a small smile on his face, talking to a girl just slightly shorter than he was, but with very similar facial features. The five of them would likely sit together on the train; while Joerg and Junna Groening were twins who usually stuck together (and the platform was not conducive to a five-person conversation), they had stuck close with their neighbors Erik, Wen, and Maddie.

A minute later, the train, a string of eight steel-gray cars, whooshed into the station. The process began when an overhead announcer informed the platform occupants that the 7:50 Eastbound I-line train was arriving, reminding them to step back and stay clear of the rails. There was a whine as the train decelerated coming into the station, before the first cars whipped past the would-be passengers, pushing a large mass of air down the line, blowing at clothes and hair.

After several long moments, the train came to a complete halt. A beep and a pleasant automated voice asked passengers to “step back, doors opening,” before directing new passengers to move towards the center of the train cars. Those on the platform waited a moment to allow the relative few people disembarking to get off the train before the filing onto the train began. Somehow, the students had managed to pick a spot right near one of the doors, so they were among the first ones on, staking out a position out of the way where all five of them could stand together. Erik saw Haley and her friends get into a different door to the same car as they piled in.

“Hey, Maddie, did you have trouble with the dub-en-el homework last night?” Wen asked, leaning against a wall and bracing rather than holding onto one of the vertical handrails. Erik experienced a minor pang of jealousy; Wendell usually asked him for help with writing (or Writing & Literature, or W&L); it was one of the few academic areas Erik was naturally good with and, consequently, one of the few he cared about. As such, he suspected his friend’s question was less about the homework assignment in question.

“Yeah, actually, I did,” she said. “Actually, when we get to school, Erik, would you mind giving me a hand with it?” she asked, turning to him. “I want to make sure I’m understanding everything right.”

“Uhh, yeah, sure,” Erik said, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. He noticed Wen giving him a look as Maddie looked away from Wen. He was somewhat surprised that that gesture was a wink and a thumbs up. Weird. What’s he playing at? Erik turned his attention back to the conversation at large. “Was it just the comprehension check? Cranking out a whole essay before class might be a little beyond my capabilities,” he asked with a chuckle. “How about you, Wen?”

Maddie laughed. “Yeah, yeah, just the comp check.” Wendell nodded, as well. “Relax, I wouldn’t ask you to help me write a whole essay.”

“Oh, well, that’s good. So glad I’m off that hook,” Erik shot back. Maddie grinned in response and gave him a pat on the shoulder. Overhead, the automated announcer informed them that the next stop was coming up. On an emptier train, the PA would have echoed off the hard floors and sturdy plastic seats, but as it was, the number of people softened the noise. Everyone collectively leaned forward as the train decelerated, heading into the station, with a lurch back as it settled into a complete stop. The friendly chime was heard again as the automated PA directed the boarding procedures at this station, and the train grew more crowded as additional commuters piled in.

The students traded glances and began working their way closer to the door; they would need to disembark at the next station. Wendell, the biggest, led the way, slowly pushing towards a spot near the door. Maddie followed, with the silent Groening twins behind her, and Erik bringing up the rear. Once the train doors had closed, similar transitions were noticeable throughout the train, with most of the other commuters moving to accommodate; the disembarking students at the North Redden Street Station were part of the morning routine. About three minutes after the train lurched forward once more, it was grinding to a stop again. The students waited, primed for that same chime and, almost as soon as the doors slid open, poured off the train, taking almost a quarter of its occupants at the single station.

The North Redden station was bigger and busier than the Edelstun stop, being as it was closer in to Braandurburg’s denser core areas. Still, the five students, along with most of their classmates, were well-practiced in the fine art of navigating commuter crowds. Noticeably, at the larger station, with more potential hazards, and situated near a large school, there was a more salient security presence. There were of course the usual transit police, but this one also tended to have a modest Federal Guard presence. The crisply-uniformed Guardsmen stood out as islands of relative stillness in the swarm of humanity, blue armbands on their right sides indicating that, despite the crisp black coats and pants, that they were Civil Guardsmen rather than run-of-the-mill Federal Guards. These ones notably carried handguns in secured holsters in addition to collapsible batons, where most transit police had to make do with simply a wooden or collapsible baton.

The students noticed those armbands and took a wider path to avoid them. All five had been raised with the principle that while the average Federal Guard was just a kid in a uniform, the Civil Guards were ‘professional’ goons and bullies. Though it had been nearly two decades since the Reformers had come to power, the idea that the Blue Arms were the long arm of Lord Jaal’s paranoia had proven pervasive and seemed to have permanently tarnished the Civil Guard’s reputation.

They made their way to the stairs off the platform, making sure to follow the signs to the Rigel Street exit to the station. The foot traffic flowed easily to the exits, and it was not hard to see that most of the outbound flow of people were wearing the same school uniforms, clearly headed to the same place. As they reached the exit to the station, they could see where the roof’s protection against the rain ceased. Reaching that threshold, Erik, Wen, and Junna all pulled out umbrellas, deploying their canopies as they stepped into the rain. Wen and Junna walked with Joerg between them, benefiting from the coverage of their umbrellas, with Erik to Wendell’s left. Maddie had wound up on the outside, huddling closer to Erik to stay under the canopy. After a moment’s attempt to walk like that, Erik indicated that she should walk between him and Wendell, where the umbrellas overlapped, allowing her to stay drier for the rest of the walk.

It took them about five minutes of walking from the station to reach the high school. It was mostly uphill (the school was inland from the coast and city center), but the slope was gentle enough that it did not present any real difficulty to students in decent physical condition. The walk was passed in amiable silence between the friends, focusing mostly on staying dry and getting out of the rain as quickly as reasonably possible. Here, there were more shopfronts and a few more office buildings, and the buildings were taller, giving the area a denser, more hemmed-in feel. A familiar sign hawked the services of the Bank of Tyrrslynd, while a painted advertisement on a brick wall encouraged the drowning of one’s cares in Welker’s brand beer.

Within about three minutes of the walk, Redden High School came into view. It was a somewhat blocky structure, about six stories high, dotted with windows at regular intervals all up and down its body. The building was a somewhat light gray, although it looked darker due to the prodigious cloud cover and rain darkening its exterior. It was not the most inviting structure anyone was likely to see, but its flowerbeds and the plants growing in boxes on the roof helped give it some small redeeming charm.

The doors, recessed under a canopy, were held open this morning to help students enter the school at a steady pace without pauses caused by doors opening or closing. The welcome mats were already waterlogged, but Erik, Wendell, Maddie, Joerg, and Junna all made at least some token efforts to dry the soles of their shoes off before moving further into the building. They mixed into the large flow of other students doing the same, entering the building, and then walking down the school’s main hallway.

They passed the administrative offices on their right and security offices on their left, taking a left at a split in the hallway and following a major hallway to a corner. The hallway split into upper and lower levels using staircases, going up to the classroom levels or down to the auditorium and gym levels. There were several rooms that branched off the hallway before the students reached a corner where the hallway turned sharply again. Following that new direction further, they came to a large indoor courtyard, where the building’s three floors were visible as railed-in walkways leading to other classrooms, all overlooking a central rectangular area, illuminated by a central skylight. The floor was the same white-with-black-speckle vinyl tile as was used in the hallway prior, but it was amazing the difference made, having it reflect natural light rather than the fluorescent light that had lit the hallway.

First thing for the morning would be a short homeroom period, which mostly existed for administrative and announcement purposes. Here, the Groening twins split from Erik, Wen, and Maddie. The home rooms were based on the home classroom assignments from lower secondary and primary school, part of an effort to keep children together once they had gone to school together most of their school careers.

The three of them walked towards a staircase, scaling it at a steady, slower pace, stopping at the second floor to wave and chat with some of their other classmates who were sitting against the railing, shooting the breeze while they waited for the day to begin. Throughout the indoor “courtyard” were small knots of students, either sitting on the floor or standing in small circles, talking to each other and catching up on all the happenings since the last time they had seen each other. Even those walking, like Erik, Wen, and Maddie, did so at a leisurely pace. The three of them turned and scaled the next staircase up to the third floor, the last one before the roof. They walked out of the courtyard, down the hall about thirty or forty meters, stopping by a trio of lockers.

Though there were ostensibly lockers for those who wanted them, lockers frequently went unused except for when there was a special need for one; on the average day, Erik and Wen only visited their lockers to grab their change of clothes before gridiron practice. As far as Erik knew, Maddie never used hers at all. This was not a normal day, though. All three pulled their lockers open, setting their backpacks down and hanging their damp coats inside the lockers, eager to dry off. Their umbrellas joined the coats inside the tall, thin, rectangular lockers, along with a few other odds and ends from their bags in a bid to make them lighter. Closing the lockers, the three turned and walked only a few meters back up the hall, pulling open the door to a classroom.

Even though they had about ten minutes before the homeroom period was set to start, the room was already probably about two thirds of the way full. Seating was not assigned, but students had long since staked their claims to specific seats, and it was generally considered rude to take someone else’s usual spot. As a result, an L-shaped set of seats in roughly the middle of the classroom were open, since nobody had any reason to take Wendell, Erik, and Maddie’s usual spots. They wove through the desks and students, setting their packs on the ground next to their desks, as had most of the other students. Wen sat in front of Maddie, who sat side-by-side with Erik, allowing them a triangular alley of conversation.

Maddie leaned over and began rummaging through her bag, while Wen started doing the same. Erik, still a little groggy despite the commute, wondered why they were getting their stuff out; usually all that happened in home room was the anthem and morning announcements. While he zoned out, he idly watched them rummaging, noticing the way that Maddie’s hair, pulled into a longish ponytail, fell on her shoulder as she bent over, and the slender lines of her calves under her tights, visible where her dark green skirt ended around her knees. He pointedly looked away as he realized what he was doing, just as Maddie pulled a binder out of her bag and set it on her desk, flipping the three-ring binder open and leafing through a series of notebook pages that had been placed inside. “Alright, so about that W&L homework…”

“Oh, right,” Erik suddenly comprehended, and moved to fish his binder out of his own bag, avoiding eye-contact with Maddie and deliberately ignoring the satisfied smirk that Wendell had started giving him when he had noticed what was going on. He flipped open the binder, finding the sheet of paper inside a designated Writing & Lit section that he had set aside. He confirmed the date on the paper where he had copied the reading comprehension questions and recorded his responses to them. “So, where were you having trouble?” The three of them scooted their desks together.

“Well, you know how Ms. Kaaldur wanted us to interpret that dream that Mjor has in chapter eight?” Erik nodded at the prompt. “Well, I read those pages like eight times last night, and I did not get it. Just, could not tell what was going on,” Maddie explained. “You’re good with this stuff – what the heck is going on there?”

“Okay, well obviously, it’s supposed to be allegorical…”

“Well, okay, I figured that part out, otherwise the whole passage doesn’t make any sense,” Maddie shot back.

“Anyway,” Erik continued over her retort, “so what the author is trying to show is…” It took Erik almost a full minute to explain the scene in question to Maddie and Wen, and almost another to unwrap the layers of metaphor involved in the thing. Still, he was heartened to see the comprehension dawn on their faces as things clicked into place. As he wrapped up the explanation, Wendell started writing, and Maddie started moments later.

“Dude, has anyone ever told you that you should be a teacher?” Wendell asked. “I don’t know how you manage to figure this stuff out well enough to explain to dummies like me, but that shit’s a gift.”

“Actually, yes,” Erik replied. “Sadly, grades and eval boards say otherwise, though, and those are what matter. Not rich enough for private school, don’t have the placement for public.” He shrugged. “It’s okay, though. Service Corps’ not too bad.”

Maddie looked up from her writing. “So that’s it? You’re enlisting after graduation?”

“Probably, I guess. I’m not sure what else I could do. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to find a job before I get conscripted anyway. Might as well go in on my own terms, choose my service, that kind of thing.” He shrugged. “You know what Unis you’re getting as options?” Maddie shook her head.

“Not yet. That’s probably going to come some time during summer term, Mum says. Then the list gets narrowed after that one, based on grades. They have to wait; people have slacked off before and screwed up their placements because they thought they had everything locked up. So I can’t let up yet,” she explained. “Fingers crossed, Leifspurt and Innusburg will be on there, I hope. Their psych programs are some of the best. I’ve already accepted that I’m not going to get into Federal.”

“You all aren’t even going to ask?” Wendell said with a chuckle, more a statement than a question.

“Oh, like we don’t all know you’re going to get a developmental contract,” Erik said with a laugh. “It’s just a question of where. I mean, it’s not like you’re not half the reason the club gets AGA funding. Speaking of, have you been hearing from any dev teams?”

Here, Wen beamed. “Yeeup. Already heard from Blumingtun and the Triple City teams. No solid offers yet, but they’re feeling me out. Asking for game tape. The last AGA evaluator that came by gave me an estimate as being either a high Tier 3 or a low Tier 2 grade, so that’s usually a good sign. The final grades should be out by April, right before the season starts.”

“Shit, nice!” Erik said. “Did they say what any of the rest of our grades were?” he asked. Wen looked a little embarrassed.

“Don’t get mad, but… I think what the evaluator said when I asked about yours was ‘Oh, the scrawny slot-out? A 5, if he’s lucky.’” Erik just laughed at that.

“That’s pretty much what I expected, no worries.” Erik was not bad by high school club standards, but he knew he was nowhere near the standards needed to land a developmental contract with any hope of making a career out of things.

It was around this point that their homeroom teacher entered the room. Mikel Ordon was a younger math teacher, well-liked by his students for an enthusiastic demeanor, even if it also prompted its share of (mostly good-natured) jokes. It did not hurt that he was a youthful, clean-cut young man who clearly took care of himself, which meant that several of the female students (and about as many male students as one might expect) were fond of him for reasons beyond his teaching style. His blue eyes seemed far brighter than the morning called for, especially because the rain had turned his usually-golden hair a sodden light brown. He had a light blue shirt, a dark pair of slacks, and a green tie on, standing in a pair of black blucher-style shoes.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said. “I hope we’re all ready to start another big week. I especially hope the rain doesn’t have you all feeling wishy-washy,” he continued with a grin. There were a few groans from the students. He sat down at a table in the front of the room, looking out over the 40ish students that he administered during the brief period. “So, how was everybody’s weekends?” There were some mutterings among the students, but it was mostly unintelligible. “Come on, anyone do anything fun?” One hand went up. “Yes, Eddie?”

Eddie, a heavyset boy with dark hair and dark eyes, spoke up. “I went to a concert on Saturday.”

“That sounds pretty fun,” Mr. Ordon replied. “Who did you see play?”

“My friend’s band. They’re called Old Shoe. They played in a park for a community festival.” Eddie had broken the spell. Several other hands went up once he finished. A few other students shared their weekend activities (Stasia had gone for a hike out in the countryside, Vik had been fishing down by the sea with his father, Ana had gone to a bridal shower for her sister, and so on) before a series of beeps announced the official beginning of the school day. There were the sounds of chairs scraping the floor and the rustle of movement as everyone stood simultaneously. Those still not fully roused from sleep were jolted by the soaring opening bars of “Onward, Allamunnika!” A few students put their fists over their left pectoral and faced the Federal Bicolor hanging from the wall, while most simply stood quietly. After about a minute, the song ended, and the class sat down.

Mr. Ordon walked over to the wall and switched on a television mounted to a wall bracket. After a brief fiddle with the channels, the image of two students, one male and one female, sitting at a desk in a style reminiscent of news anchors. “Good morning, Redden,” the boy said. “I’m Rik Joral.” The girl then spoke up, adding “and I’m Sara Riktur, and these are your morning announcements!” The two did not quite have the pep of paid professionals, but they were giving it a respectable effort for unpaid high schoolers as they ran down the list of things that Redden Senior High School’s students and faculty needed to know for their day.

For the most part, it was a matter of extracurricular events and activities (“All are reminded that the Student Organization Fair is next Monday, so all organizations and prospective members should mark their calendars!” Sara reminded everyone; “Remember that the Spring Talent Show will be taking place on February 18th. Come out and support your classmates!” Rik said), the odd administrative announcement (“Library staff is asking that any students wishing to make use of the inter-library loan program make any requests at least one full week in advance of the date the item is needed,” Rik informed the students). Finally, there were recreational events addressed ("The Spring Social will be held at 7:00pm on March 20th, so make sure you make arrangements with any special people in advance," Sara said with a wink). The announcements ran for about eight minutes before they finally started wrapping things up.

“And as always, Redden, make it a great day, or not, the choice is yours!” Rik said cheerfully to the camera, supplementing it with some impromptu finger guns, prompting some chuckles, before the broadcast cut out.

With that, the students in the room started gathering up their belongs. Those who had pulled out their binders stashed them back in their bags, in anticipation of the bell that would announce the end of the class period. “Alright, everyone, have a great rest of the day,” Mr. Ordon told the class. Moments later, the bell rang, and the students rose almost in unison, moving towards the door, and the school day had truly begun.

[Gylias]

►

The video opens with two young women sitting on a couch, with a nondescript cream-coloured wall behind them. They are both wearing the same outfit — a white shirt with a red bow, and sandy brown blazer and pleated skirt. The brown-haired girl, Chiyo, smiles rather timidly at the camera, while the red-haired girl, Kei, is looking right at the viewer with a confident yet amused expression.

The girls begin talking in Miranian, with subtitles in English.

Chiyo: <Hello.> (waving slightly at the camera) <I'm Chiyo Takenomiya.>

Kei: (raising her hands above her head and grinning) <And I'm Kei Takenomiya! Welcome to a new episode of Chiyo and Kei play games!>

(Chiyo giggles slightly under her breath, and visibly relaxes.)

Kei: <It's been something of a theme this month that we've been doing either classic games, or platformers. More platformers than usual. You know what I mean! Well, today we have a classic platformer for you!> (enthusiastically points directly at camera)

(Chiyo smiles and reaches off-screen to get something. She holds up a game box.)

Chiyo: <Yes, we're doing an old favourite in the Takenomiya household. Rayman 2: The Great Escape, for the PC.>

Kei: (pointing at box) <You probably can't see it from here, but it says right here, an Ubisoft-Dreamwave co-production. So you know this is gonna be fun.>

Chiyo: <Indeed it will, sis.>

The screen changes to several appropriate still images and gameplay footage.

Chiyo: <The game's a sequel to Rayman, a game made by Ubisoft in 1995.>

Kei: <Which I never played...>

Chiyo: (chuckle) <Me neither! And apparently that was something of a problem for Ubisoft. The game got good press, but it didn't distribute as well as they expected. So, when the creator, Michel Ancel, wanted to make another Rayman game, the higher-ups at Ubisoft said no.>

Kei: <So, what's a game developer to do? ... Why, grab a flight south from Zambora, drop suitcase in Mishawaka, and ask for help from, oh, only the most experienced producer at making blockbusters in Gylias.>

Chiyo: <If you've noticed we haven't talked about the first Rayman that much... hehe, don't worry, the two games basically have nothing but the title character in common.> (to Kei) <I don't think they even take place in the same universe.>

Kei: <I certainly couldn't find any indication to the contrary!>

Chiyo: <Michel-san managed to get Dreamwave on board with the project, back when they were ascending to... well... Dreamwave status.> (slight giggle) <That means you're looking at one of the first proper Saira Telyn games.>

Screen changes to a screenshot of the credits. It reads: "Production - Saira Telyn. Writing - Michel Ancel, Anise Lúadh, Saira Telyn."

Kei: <It's right there in the credits, too! And in the plot.> (Screen changes to gameplay footage.) <You play Rayman. They has a body with unattached floaty limbs, and hair that can spin into a helicopter. I think this was actually the first game to use that mechanic. Or if it wasn't, it was the one that made it popular!>

Return to the sisters on camera.

Chiyo: <The plot... well, you'll see all of it in the episode, not to mention the opening cinematic! And the manual...> (fumbles slightly with retrieving the game manual from the box) <But reduced to the absolute minimum, robot pirates invade the world.>

Kei: <Rayman's world, you understand. Not ours. Just so we're clear.> (winks at audience)

Chiyo: <They do all the usual evil stuff, and Rayman and friends fight them off. But one of the evil stuff they do weakens Rayman and they're captured. So the game starts with you and a friend breaking out of robo-pirate prison and saving the world.>

Kei: <It's remarkable how many games we end up playing that can double as metaphors for the Liberation War, sis.>

The two share a laugh.

Kei: <Rayman is so anarchist they thinks limbs being connected to the body is an intolerable imposition of power.>

Chiyo: <Rayman should've been in Black Mesa, they'd just golden-fist-punch all the aliens and then fly a horse-rocket into the Nihi... thing.>

Kei: <And the G-man wouldn't even know what hit 'em!>

Kei is distracted for a moment acting out the scene of Rayman denouncing the G-man as a statist oppressor.

Chiyo: (simultaneously, looking a box) <Now, this being a 1999 game and all... sadly no co-op mode.>

Kei: (interrupting herself) <We'll be doing the usual co-op on single-player, darlings. Change of players every loading screen.>

Chiyo: (smiling at Kei) <Running is default here, shift makes you walk. Your turn to be a slowpoke~>

Kei playfully shushes her sister before she can finish.

Kei: (smiling, slightly lost for a good gag) <We've, ah... probably wasted enough of our viewers' time already, have we not?> (Chiyo mumbles, "<It's only been 2 minutes, sis.>", under Kei's hand) <Why don't we get this thing started?>

(Cut to the opening cinematic)

Kei: <You know, this is an oddly dark start for such a fun game.>

Chiyo: <Yes, quite... I think that might've been Michel. You know Saira and Anise don't really do that.>

Kei: <Well, yeah. There were actually two levels that they left out of the game because they were too creepy.>

Chiyo: <Really?>

Kei: <Yeah. The...> ano... <Cave of Bad Dreams, and Tomb of the Ancients.>

Chiyo: <Pffft... with names like that...>

Kei: <So, yes, fair warning, this is a great game, but you have to get past this all-hope-is-gone-we're-all-doomed intro.>

Chiyo: <... this text is really making it sound like Xevden invaded Rayman's planet.>

(Both laugh.)

Kei: <That's not too far off!>

Chiyo: <The weird thing is that if you play the game the first time without messing with the settings, it's literally dark too. Factory settings put the luminosity on the middle, but it makes it too dark to see much. I don't know anyone who didn't crank that up to the max before going in.>

Kei: <Mhm, the menu alone looks off without the light. What's the point of having lovely visuals if you're going to hide them?>

(The title appears.)

Kei: (claps hands once) <And that's why the game is called The Great Escape!>

(Both laugh.)

Chiyo: <Razorbeard... I don't like the sound of this one.>

Kei: <Do you think they ever shaves?>

Chiyo: Eto... a... <that is... it's rather pointless, isn't it?>

(On-screen text displaying slaves on board.)

Kei: <Jane, we're sending you to take down them Maldorians.>

Chiyo: <Oh, hey, loading screen! You want to switch?>

Kei: <Hahaha, it's a two-part cinematic, sis!>

Chiyo: <Ah, good, we're both paying attention.>

(Next part of the cinematic starts)

Chiyo: <I'll say this at least, they're doing a really good job of putting you right in the shit without beating you over the head with it. This scene works very well without dialogue.>

Kei: (chuckling) <Look, you know it can't be all bad when you have Globox! That big lump is so loveable.>

(Dialogue happens)

Kei: <Rayman, if this is the end, this is gonna be so short we never even got to the game part!>

(Rayman: Now I can shoot with my fist again!)

Chiyo: <Yeah, that's how Rayman fights. He shoots fists at people. But they're not like boomerangs, they just... automatically reload.>

Kei: <Magic fists.>

(Game starts)

Chiyo: <Well, sis, you want to do the honours?>

Kei: <With pleasure!>

(Sound of Kei playfully shoving Chiyo off the chair to get on the keyboard.)

Kei: <So over here you get a good preview of the rest of the game. There are going to be downhill slides, and yow, are some of them going to test your motor skills, haha. Red lums give you energy, which you can see in the top-left health display.>

Chiyo: <The different kinds of lums have different roles, but we'll get to all of that as the game goes on.>

Kei: <We'll be going for all the yellow lums, so you'll have all the knowledge. And we'll edit out all the death scenes when we needlessly sacrifice ourselves to grab all the lums. There will be quite a few of those.>

Chiyo giggles.

Chiyo: <So there you have the opening sequence of the game...>

Kei gets out of the chair at a loading screen and tells Chiyo, "Your turn, sis", patting her on the back as she gets back in the chair.

Chiyo: <... you crash out of a floating robot pirate ship> (Subtitles: "robot pile of shit") <and spend the rest of the game working your way back up to kill the baddies and save the entire planet, as PWEI would say.>

Kei: <If this was an RPG it would've been Microworld, I tell you!>

(Chiyo laughs)

(The first level starts)

Kei: <Woops, looks like Rayman forgot to helicopter.>

Chiyo: <Ow, talk about a nasty fall. Good thing their limbs are disconnected, they'd have died otherwise.>

(Rayman: "GLOBOX!")

Kei: <Aw, man, we'll need to rescue Globox.>

Chiyo: <Hey, it won't be the first time, sis. Hehe...>

(4:23)

Chiyo: <So, the 0 button on the numpad lets you go into first-person view, which you can see now.>

Chiyo: <Oh, sorry, I didn't realise I did a 180.>

(4:30)

Chiyo: <Something up there?>

Kei: <I don't know...>

(4:42)

Kei: <Hi Murfy!>

Chiyo: (quietly) <We're trying not to talk too much over the voices and soundtrack here. But I like the fact that this game uses> Raimango¹ <for its voices. All the voice actors basically talked in gibberish, so they could focus more on sound to convey what was intended.>

Kei: <It's the same thing you see in Fly Tales. I wonder if this game got dubbed — you think they hired new voice actors to do different flavoured gibberish?>

Chiyo: Fufufufu... <It's definitely a very French-sounding gibberish.>

(5:28)

Chiyo: <I can't add anything to what Murfy just said. You heard 'em.>

Kei: <Or more likely you read 'em.>

Chiyo: <Well, you see J makes the heads-up display appear, with the life bar and lums and cages. I'm going to keep it off so it doesn't interfere with the image.>

Kei: <Yeah, do I love this soundtrack♥>

Chiyo: <Mhm, it is very good! The remarkable thing is that this was Éric Chevalier's first video game work, actually.>

Kei: <Saira sure has a great eye for talent, haha. Sees some Zamboran TV movie and thinks, 'Yes, this person's perfect for the task.' The acoustic guitar on this and a few other tracks is by Kathy King, too.>

Chiyo: <Talk about a great start to your career — The Seatbelts and Rayman 2 in just two years...>

Kei: <I don't know why those weird mosquitoes are chasing you...>

Chiyo: <Ah, they're harmless.>

(6:07)

Chiyo: <Woop, screwed that one up.>

Kei: <Rayman can be picky sometimes about when they'll cling to a ledge.>

Chiyo: <Therrrrrrre we go~>

Kei: <Good thing the hardcore platforming isn't till later!> (laughs)

(6:22)

Kei: <Uuuu, aaa... there is no good way to break that to someone, hehe...>

Chiyo: <The game should really pick a tone and stick with it. These shifts are pretty jarring.>

Kei: <We know enough to blame Michel Ancel for that.>

(laughter)

Chiyo: <Yeah, they did go on to make Beyond Good & Evil. That tells you a lot, really.>

Kei: <I'm not sure why they spelled> Ri<'s name that way. If you know your Gylic alphabet the sound is gonna be different.>

Chiyo: <Maybe the French flavour?>

Kei: <Hmm, yeah. Y and i are basically the same letter in French.>

(7:04)

Chiyo: <Uu, thought there might be something here.>

Kei: <Nope!>

(7:28)

Kei: <This manoeuvre is easier to do if you don't have limbs connecting your hands and feet to your body.>

Chiyo: <Also, if you can jump higher than the average human.>

Kei: <Rayman would be perfect for an olympic team!>

Chiyo: <Which sport?>

Kei: <Pffft... any of 'em! I'm not picky! Probably not javelin, though. They might accidentally detach a hand throwing it.>

(7:46)

Chiyo: <We'll come back to that ledge later.>

(7:55)

Kei: <And down here is space!>

Chiyo: <How come everything's not being sucked into it?>

(Kei thinks)

Kei: (shrugs) <Magic.>

Chiyo: <And here we have the Teensies.>

Kei: <We have no way of knowing if they're all teens, but the name at least implies that.>

Kei: <Hey, they're only fighting over who's the king. Nothing important, like the> tenshi.

Chiyo: <There's only four of 'em. They should just declare a republic instead.>

The sisters chuckle at the Teensies' arguing over who's king.

Kei: <Aha-ha! That's the only actual word Rayman says in the whole game. Not counting "yahoo!" and his own name.>

Chiyo: <Yeah, it does sound like he says> 'Reima' <sometimes. It's rather Pokémon-esque.>

(8:40)

Kei bursts into laughter.

Kei: <A-hahahahahaha, that's still a great joke!>

Chiyo: (giggling) <Oldie but a goodie.>

Kei: <I like how the crown was on sideways too. It's a nice subtlety in scenes like these.>

(Teensie King explains the Hall of Doors.)

Chiyo: <It's basically a portal into the spirit world.>

Kei: <Either that or the door into summer.>

Chiyo: <We sure could use help from the> kami.

Kei: <The Teensies will be first against the wall when the revolution comes, hoarding the portal to the kami like that...>

Chiyo: <From each according to their according to their lums, to each according to their travels! Wait... that doesn't sound right...>

Kei: <Uu, first a great escape and now a great journey! Does this game ever cease to amaze?>

(Rayman jumps into the portal.)

Kei: <That portal looks a lot like a sink being drained!>

They both laugh. Chiyo changes places with Kei.

(10:04)

Chiyo: <Another good thing about this game, it doesn't waste your time trying to euphemise the controls with in-game language. It just straight up says, use the arrow keys, press A to jump, Space to shoot, and nobody even notices it.>

Kei: <It just gets right to the point, doesn't it?>

(10:25)

Kei: (imitating a weather forecast) <We have lovely spring weather in the Fairy Glade, with a projected maximum of 20^o in the afternoon, and a cool, breezy 12^o in the evening. Scattered showers tomorrow, as the weather front from the south moves northwards..>

Chiyo: <It's... almost enough to make you forget you're saving the world, eh?>

(Kei looks around in the first-person camera)

Kei: <Okay, now, we're going to go swimming first! There is a cage here...>

Kei: <And there it is! First cage of the level. And we're starting right off with a 5-Lum!>

Chiyo: <Is that what they're called?>

Kei: <I don't know, sis. You have the manual~>

Chiyo: <Oh!>

(Chiyo reads the manual)

Chiyo: <Aaa... 'Super Yellow Lums'.>

Kei: <Yeah, it's a good thing I wasn't in the naming department for this game!>

(11:22)

Kei: <In this game, the mushrooms bounce you up!>

Chiyo: <It's a change from making you dizzy, that's for sure...>

Kei: <Huh?> (looks around in first person) <The jingle for progress being made just played, I thought I must've opened a door or something.>

Chiyo: <No, I think this one is just to let you know you've hit a certain amount of total yellow lums already. I think it's every ten or twenty, maybe.>

(11:42)

Kei: <So, as my...> (looks at Chiyo playfully) <lovely and observant sister noted,> (Chiyo blushes) <keeping shift down indeed makes you walk in this game. Which I'm not gonna do because then we'd still be on this by Republic Day! Summer's Day even!>

They both chuckle.

(11:51)

(Chiyo laughs at the "swimming not advised" message)

Kei: <I'll take care of that!>

(Kei misses the piranha)

Kei: <In short order...>

(Kei hits the piranha)

Kei: <Gotcha! There, your infestation problem's all solved.>

(12:50)

Kei: <You know I always had a feeling there was gonna be something here. Another cage hanging under the branch or something like that.>

Chiyo: <That makes it a pretty good diversion, no?>

Kei: <Yeah, that's right~>

(Rayman passes the baby Globoxes)

Kei: <Don't worry kiddies, I'll get Globox back! It'll just take a while is all. I have to figure out where they is.>

(13:23)

Kei: <That wah guitar lick sure is sexy-> (interrupts herself) <Oh hey, there's a lum here! Not there... not there... Yep, it's under me.>

Chiyo: <You can tell the robo-pirates are evil because of all the pollution they dump everywhere.>

Kei: <Mhm, mhm, you think a sequel to this would've involved Rayman and friends just cleaning up the Glade of Dreams? Or just having some> kami <wave a brush and fixing the whole place up?>

Chiyo: <That's... that's another game, sis.>

(13:37)

Kei: <Shit, have to helicopter all the way there. Better get some altitude.>

(14:06)

Kei: (laughing) <You'd have to kill yourself to get that red lum! And it's no point because you're going to die and lose health anyways, from falling in the oily water.>

(14:53)

Kei: <Ah, you see that gate in the lower right corner? We'll get back to that one later.>

Chiyo: <That black thing you saw and are hearing now slither like a snake is one of the monstrous caterpillars in the game. They'll show up at some inopportune moments later on. I think the game calls them 'chenille'.>

Kei: <Sis, 'chenille' is French for caterpillar. That's just in the French text.>

Chiyo: <Oh. Yeah, they're caterpillars. But, y'know, black ones. They float through the air and slither like snakes. Not traits one normally associates with caterpillars.>

Kei: <Duh, the robo-pirates broke the heart of the world, and it's our job to put it back together!>

(15:09)

Kei: <Okay, I'm making an effort here not to fall off and probably get a cheap hit from the caterpillar, and have to redo the whole climb again.>

(15:29)

Kei: <Aha! You see that cage up there, and the spidery sort of enclosure on the right in the distance? We can't access them from here. We need to get back to them through a special portal in a later level.>

Chiyo: <I think this is the only level that you can't complete in one pass. At least in the sense that you can't get all the lums and cages the first time.>

Kei: <We actually need to backtrack here twice, but I'm getting ahead of myself.>

(15:46)

Kei: <That piranha can't be shot out of the water. Kirigiri knows I've tried.>

Chiyo: Fufufu~

(16:09)

Kei: <It's robo-pirate clobberin' time!> (off-mic, to Chiyo) <I can't do it, sis, I can't do the knuckle crack sound.>

Chiyo: <Isn't that just painful?

Kei: <That X you see over there needs one of those explosive barrels to be broken open, fufu~>

Chiyo: <The manual calls them 'sparadraps', which is just the French word for a plaster.>

Kei: <They do look like somebody stuck a bandage on, yup.>

Kei: <Now that that's broken open, we're going over... here... to get some lums and break a cage.>

(16:45)

Kei: <The ticking red lums have to be all collected at once or they'll just disappear.>

Chiyo: <It's like they tried to make bombs out of them...>

Kei: <Those fucking robot pirates.> (chuckles)

(17:11)

Kei: <Have to jump down here to get the last lums in this area. Whoa, camera didn't cooperate there for a second, hehe.>

(17:44)

Kei: (claps her hands) <Alright, that was all of this! Now let's get back to that dumb robo-pirate throwing explosive barrels at us.>

Kei: <Well, darling, I could use my shadow and helicopter...> (starts jumping) <...but I don't need 'em♥>

(19:11)

Kei: <Always a good strategy to just jump around when fighting. That way the laser blasts miss!>

Chiyo: <You're basing your strategy on novelty rap hits now?>

(19:50)

Kei: (giggling) <Fucker'll never know what hit 'em.> (keg explodes) <Boom! In your face, shitesberg!>

(20:50)

Kei: <Normally here you'd have to dodge that laser while bouncing on the trampoline. But I found out that...> (opens door and helicopters in) <...you don't have to~>

Kei: <Oh, let me try to stealth this robo-pirate asshole again. Ah, crap, he has a bigger health bar. Standard fighting strategy applies!>

(21:44)

Kei: <Y'hear that? It can only mean one thing!>

Chiyo: Ano...

Kei: <Ly, sis! Ly rescuin' time!>

They both laugh.

Kei: <They trapped in some sort of electricity diamond. The fiends. Nothin' Kei can't handle!>

Chiyo: <Ah, this is one of the more well-known bits of the early game. It was in a lot of the in-game footage when it came out and was being promoted.>

(23:26)

Kei: (claps and wipes her hands) <Well, that takes care of that! We freed Ly!>

Chiyo: <I really like Ly's voice. It's warm and feminine and it echoes a lot, fufu. It's just right for her.>

Kei: <Yeah! She's like a... feline-ish human who meditates and floats in the air. Most of the time you see her in the lotus position.>

Chiyo: <I heard that in the Kirisaki or Akashi localisations they gave her bigger eyes to look more animesque.>

Kei: <I don't know why they bothered. She already looks animesque enough to me!>

(24:18)

Kei laughs.

Kei: <Pfft, I love Rayman's response here. 'Umm... no.' There are gags in this game, in case you got distracted by all the robo-pirate ass-kicking!>

Chiyo: <Michel Ancel told interviewers he was influenced by Arkoennite and Ossorian myth when coming up with this bit. The whole part about Polokus being the spirit of the world, who created the world, comes loosely from Arkoennite creation myth, and from Anu, the Ossorian goddess of creation. And the sleeping, I think, comes from Ossorian deities dwelling in the Otherworld.>

Kei: <That so?>

Chiyo: <I might be wrong about that, sis. There are some loosely related mythologies to the Ossorians...>

Kei: (to the game) <The four grotesquely ugly masks.> (to Chiyo) <Ly's a fairy. Aren't fairies a thing in Ossoria too?>

Chiyo: <Aa, yes they are. They can be either benevolent or malevolent. Michel Ancel eliminated that entire second category for the Rayman universe, hehe.>

Kei: <Them and a lot of the non-Ossorian world, haha. A lot of kids probably had to struggle with discovering the concept that fairies can be nasty.>

Chiyo: <I'll bet.>

Kei: <No Ossorian fairies look like Ly, that's for sure.>

Chiyo: <I look forward to all the emails we get from Ossorian viewers correcting us about the parts we've been getting wrong for the last five minutes.>

Kei: <Has it been five minutes already?>

(Chiyo shrugs.)

Kei: <Time to swing on a purple lum! Wheeee!>

(25:55)

Kei: <This might take a bit. There's a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig drop here.>

Chiyo: <Kathy King, again on slide guitar there. This track is sort of previewing the next level for us.>

Kei: <Ah, you mean The Bayou? That's the second next level, sis. Marshes first.>

Chiyo: (giggles) <I always get those two mixed up.>

Kei: (nods) <They are both swamp.>

(27:26)

Kei: Fufu, <I recognise that stock wind sound anywhere.>

Chiyo: <It is in a lot of videogames... and anime... and films... and... yeah, I think it's just an old tape loop that's easy to get.>

Kei: <Sort of like an aerial Wilhelm scream?>

Chiyo: <Could be.>

Kei: <There is a nice variety of things to do in this game, which is definitely a big plus for it. You don't just run and jump and shoot. You slide, you swim, you fly in air currents...>

Chiyo: <You ride things.>

Kei: <Yes, yes, can't forget that. You swing on things, too.>

(30:32)

Kei: <Yes, the ritual for going back to the Hall of Doors involves an Acrean dance!>

Chiyo: <Balalaika included!>

Kei: <Well, you need it to tell it's Acrean, no?>

(Kei and Chiyo switch places)

Chiyo: <This is what we were saying earlier. You need to get all the cages and lums in a level to get access to a bonus level once you finish. Since the Fairy Glade needs backtracking later on to complete fully, we don't get to go in the bonus level right now.>

Kei: <Well, Marshes of Awakening up next. Will you do the honours, sis?>

Chiyo: <Gladly!>

¹ "Rayman language"/"Raymanese"

[Gylias]

►

(30:57)

Chiyo: <Here we are! Marshes of Awakening. One of two swamp-themed levels one after the other.>

Kei: <Watch out for alligators, sis!> (Rayman finishes getting out of the portal) <And piranhas. As usual. Those little fuckers are everywhere in this game.>

The sisters both giggle.

Chiyo: <Now, what we're going to be doing first is a short detour to get a yellow lum that's easy to miss otherwise...>

Kei: <Oof, careful there, sis! That piranha is on your tail...>

Chiyo: <Thanks~> (carries on) <You might be wondering about this log. Well, remember when I mentioned Saira removed two levels from the game because Michel Ancel was making them too creepy? This was going to be the entrance to the Cave of Bad Dreams. Over there you see the lum...>

Rayman gets the lum and turns around.

Chiyo: <The rest of the log just goes to a dead end. The removal was towards the end of the production stage, when it became clear those two levels just clashed too much with the rest of the game's tone. So this log is left in here, but the rest of the Cave of Bad Dreams was taken out of the source code.>

Kei: <You sure we switched in the loading screen? You're playing a lot like I do right now.>

(Kei playfully rubs Chiyo on the back of the head)

Chiyo: <I can be versatile, sis... Aww... Hehe, that tickles~>

(31:53)

Chiyo: <Here's Sam.>

Kei: <They's a swamp snake who has trouble pronouncing 's'. Like all snakes, really.>

(Sssssam: "Sorry, Rayman, I don't know what you're talking about...")

Kei: (pretending to voice act) <I'm just a swamp-dwelling snake, Rayman, that is way above my skill level.>

Chiyo: <Somehow I can't picture Sam visiting Ly to learn about meditation techniques or anything like that.>

Kei: <Globox probably tried but doesn't get it.>

Chiyo: <Yeah... Globox is a bit like Suzie, no?>

Kei: <Fair point.>

Chiyo: <And talking of Globox...>

Kei: <Finally, a lead on rescuing them!>

(32:21)

Chiyo: <Don't mind that jump cut folks, that was just me backtracking to make sure I didn't miss any lums.>

(32:48)

Chiyo: (mild sigh) <Usually I managed to get the super lum and flip the switch at the same time, but for some reason I couldn't pull that off just now.>

Kei: (patting Chiyo on the head) <Performance anxiety's a terrible thing, sis.>

Chiyo: <Those horrid fuckers you're seeing there, with that edit to spare you me dying a few times to get all the lums, are the zombie chickens.>

Kei: <Eeeeysh.>

Chiyo: <They were mainly going to show up in the Tomb of the Ancients.>

Kei: <Hey, if I was Saira and Michel came over with the concept art I'd just immediately say, "No. Go back and think up something good." before they even had the chance to say anything.>

(33:05)

Chiyo: <Ah, shit, I missed the third cage. The fortunate thing is that Sam really just spins around as many times as you need until you get all of those.>

Kei: <If you replay the level after it's been completed, it tops out at 3 times, if I remember right.>

Chiyo: <The reason I also missed the second lum is I didn't want to stretch the cord linking to Sam too hard as well. That thing can be ridiculously taut, so if it snaps it either launches you hard in a direction, or it just suddenly gives out and, poof, you die in piranha-infested water.>

Kei: <I don't think piranhas even live in swamps, to be honest.>

Chiyo: <As long as they don't live anywhere within 1.000 km of me, I don't care!> (laughing)

(33:31)

Chiyo: <Seatbelts on for some jump cuts, everyone. I died a few times here to get it right.>

(34:31)

Chiyo: <So now you'll get to see->

Kei: (interrupting) <Bonus level! Bonus level!>

Chiyo laughingly gets out of the chair to let Kei play it.

Kei: (mockingly refined tone, archaic Miranian) <Allow me to demonstrate, if you would be so kind, dear sister?>

Chiyo: <Why, of course, darling sister, I would be honoured to be your guest.>

Kei: <You know that fairy looks more like a conventional fairy than Ly. They even has butterfly wings.>

Chiyo: <Not to mention a wizard hat.>

Kei: <Perhaps they's attending Luna Nova Magical Academy? They's classmates with Akko! And Lotte and Diana.>

Chiyo: <What about Sucy?>

Kei: <What about her?> (sticks her tongue out at Chiyo; both laugh)

Kei: <You read it, this is basically a racing minigame.>

Chiyo: <Try not to wreck the arrow keys, sis.> (chuckles)

Kei: <Of course. I'm certainly not going to try playing the whole game by just messing with the camera to move Rayman.>

Chiyo: <Baby Globox has a serious advantage in this race. They's smaller than the robo-pirate, so that gives them more speed and mobility.>

Kei: <Also they're not one rain shower away from being a rusting scrapheap.>

(35:18)

Kei: <Haha, you heard that? The rustbucket fell on its face just after I won!>

Chiyo smiles and pats a triumphant Kei on the shoulder.

Kei: <I didn't even need the prize actually, because it's replenishing your health to the max, and my health was already max. Fufufu...>

Kei: <Now... the bayou! ... And the bombs. More floating bombs.>

Chiyo: <Oh, we're getting an update on the robo-pirate prison ship.>

Kei: <Sadly that update is not that they've been erased from existence.>

(36:05)

Chiyo and Kei laugh at the robo-pirate tripping the other as it enters Razorbeard's cabin.

Chiyo: <That was a good one, hahahaha...>

Kei: <Worth it!>

Chiyo: <Razorbeard sounds a bit like Darth Vader, doesn't they?>

Kei: <I think they probably just recorded someone with an asthmatic attack and slowed it down and processed it.>

(36:35)

Kei: (pretending to be an action heroine) <Fucker just ate one of the 1000 lums! Now it's personal, shitlicker!>

(36:48)

Kei: (dragging the words out) <Well, I could do the Bayou...>

Rayman starts to the left.

Kei: <But I wanna do the other bonus level first!>

Kei: <Hey Ly!>

Chiyo: <Ly just always looks so serene, doesn't they?>

Kei: <I have a feeling they's probably already achieved nirvana and is just sticking around to help everyone else.> (under her breath) <Especially Globox.>

(37:01)

Kei: <Oh, I don't need to stand on the pillar here?>

Chiyo: <No, that's just the Walk of Power.>

Kei: <Still cool, though~>

(37:16)

Kei: (pretending to be an announcer) <The Walk of Life! The... Time... Race!>

Chiyo: <The Movie.>

Kei: <The Video Game!>

Both laugh.

Kei: <Ahaha, did Ly just say 'come on'?>

Chiyo: <Yup.>

Kei: <Well, you tell 'em the story, I'm concentrating on these lums~>

Chiyo: <This, and the Walk of Power later on, are the only levels in which Ly has different voice clips than their usual. They were in production and thought they could use a separate set of sounds to fit the level. There was an audition, and the person they picked to make the exclamations was Anna Holland.>

Kei: <Holland, Holland, why does that name sound familliar?>

Chiyo: <Get this, she was a fucking princess from the Shalumite royal family who just happened to be on vacation in town!>

Kei laughs uproariously.

Kei: <It'd be like trying to find a voice actress for my video game and I'd end up giving it to the tenshi herself!>

Chiyo: <That's actually something I really admire about this game. Most of everybody involved in the making of it was basically obscure at the time. Yeah, Saira and Anise were getting Dreamwave into the top tier, but Michel Ancel was the designer of a mostly obscure platformer by some Zamboran game company. Éric Chevalier recorded a TV movie soundtrack. Most of the voice actors — David Gasman for Rayman,> (heard operating her phone) <Coralie Martin for Ly, Pierre-Alain de Garrigues for Globox and Murfy and the Teensies and... wow, about everyone else... Mathieu Géczy for Razorbeard...>

Kei: (giggling) <Sis, I think you made the point~>

Chiyo: <They were basically unknowns, frankly. I mean, the only people involved in this who had any profile were Saira and Anise, Kathy King because Cowboy Bebop: The Music was out for a year, and Anna Holland, for... well, being a fucking royalty!> (laughs) <And Saira just assembled this whole team and made something brilliant with them and they went on to greater things. It's quite the touching story, really.>

Kei: <Yes, it's equal in touch to the plot of the game, easily.>

(38:45)

Chiyo: <I wonder why Ly doesn't run on all fours more.>

Kei: <Their body's mostly human, it's probably not as fast as a normal cat's velocity.>

(39:27)

Kei: <Two minutes! That's pretty good for starters.>

(Rayman starts the ritual to open a spiral door.)

Kei: <Well, that's my level done.>

Kei gets out of the chair and gently brings Chiyo onto it, giving her a mild shoulder massage as she sits down.

Kei: <You show that bayou who's the best, sis.>

Chiyo: <Mhm, I will~>

(39:56)

Chiyo: <Why don't I take a turn in the walk of l-just kidding!>

Kei laughs.

Kei: <Ah, you had me there for a sec.>

Chiyo: <So, here we are. Floating barrel. Giant robo-pirate warship flying up ahead.>

(40:07)

Chiyo: <First helicopter bomb of the level.>

Kei: <Kathy doing some bluesy slide guitar.>

(40:18)

Chiyo: <Ah, you hear that harmonica? That bit is replayed, it's borrowed from the start of The Supernauts' "The Wizard".>

Chiyo: <And that guitar line! That guitar line is from Pink Floyd's "Shine On You Crazy Diamond".>

Kei: <That's probably the most we can report musically speaking. This soundtrack isn't exactly Earthbound; or Paul's Boutique; or Stella Star, when it comes to sampling.>

(41:03)

Chiyo: <Heard a robo-pirate breathing. That can only mean one thing.>

(41:10)

Chiyo: <Stealth attack!>

Rayman's fist hits the cage instead.

Chiyo: Ano... <stealth attack?>

Kei: <Yeah, that one did the trick!>

(41:34)

Chiyo: (disgusted) <Urghhhhh... more zombie chickens.>

Kei: <Hey, at least you're spared that level you said was gonna have them a lot more.>

Chiyo: <Yeah, this was what it would've been like actually. This whole segment. Stand on a floating barrel, float down toxic water, shoot them down before they can fly into you and hit your health.>

Kei: <Sounds fucking awful.>

Chiyo: <Tell me about it...>

(42:05)

Chiyo: (laughing) <Wow, I have to be a real idiot to miss that drop by that little.>

Kei: (pretending to be Ly) <Go Rayman!... Rayman!... Rayman!... Rayman!... >

Chiyo giggles.

(42:24)

Chiyo: <Got a cage over here...>

Kei: <Why else would there be a purple lum pointing in that direction?>

Chiyo: <Yeah. This game doesn't try to misdirect you, which I appreciate.>

(43:15)

Chiyo: <I think there's another robo-pirate around this corner...>

Robo-pirate spawns.

Chiyo: <Knew it.>

(43:47)

Kei: <Dig that cloud water around the edges, fufu~>

Chiyo: <That really shouldn't insta-kill you, it looks good. They could've used it in a more benign way in other levels, if you ask me.>

(44:32)

Chiyo: <And there we have an idiot robo-pirate, coming up.>

Kei: <Well, more of an idiot than the usual robo-pirate.>

Chiyo: <You can't magic fist your way out of this one, so what you do instead is...>

(44:38)

Chiyo: <Make them give chase and jump so they fall into the void and explode.>

Kei: <That's just their CPU giving up on existence, really.>

(44:52)

Chiyo: <They always make a little cutscene out of the timed laser shutdown, and it sorta screws with the camera when you get back in for a few seconds, because you appear facing the camera. If you're not careful you'll accidentally find yourself running in the opposite direction than the one you need.>

(45:23)

Chiyo: <Just wanna... make sure I didn't miss any lums or cages in this bit... is all... Nope, we're good to go!>

[Pargesia]

|| Trouble at MOI ||
Down at the old Gwyn Palace where the Ministry of Information has trouble.

City of New Kenlis
Old Ministry Pavilion, Gwyn Palace
Private office of the Minister of Information

This site uses cookies for easy use. Click here to learn more about cookies Gov.PG || Ministry of Information Home | About Pargesia Pargesia - The Nation at Large Help | Cookies | Contact | Terms and conditions Built by MOI Digital Services ♚ © Crown copyright

"Yes, Minister?" asked Conaire Creachmhaoil, Private Secretary to the Minister of Information. Today is his first day on the job. It is also the Minister's. Their predecessors caught in a graft and corruption scandal, seek to do otherwise. But there is only one problem: What are they supposed to do first?

The Minister, Right Honorable Éamann Enrigh, TD, PC; may be all smiles since he came inside the Old Ministry Pavilion this morning but he was not happy about his new job. He was expecting, with his impressive reputation in the backbenches, a better job like the Ministry of Administrative Affairs. At least he would have a hand on every pie in Gwyn'. But no, his dear friend, like his other friends in Gwyn, Taoiseach Donal Faulkner. A real dear friend. Joining his party was not out of ideological ambition but personal: To become Taoiseach of Pargesia. To leave a mark in history. But what could he do as Minister of Information? The very bottom of Gwyn, might as well have his office in the old dungeon below the palace. To think of it now, he always wondered the purpose of the dungeon. Was it even a dungeon? It was always called a dungeon. Who the fuck called it a dungeon?

"Who the fuck called it a dungeon?" The Minister said. His Private Secretary could not believe what he just heard. Did he just-? Why did he-? Oh, never mind. So indiscreet. The Private Secretary, with question still in mind, said, "Yes, Minister?"

"OH! Sorry," the Minister realized, slightly turning red on his face, "I wasn't myself. Did I say something?" The Private Secretary thought best not to say the expletive that came from the Minister's mouth and shook his head to say no. The Minister nodded in relief. He thought he said 'Who the fuck called it a dungeon?' But now, he forgot what he was talking about with his Private Secretary. He looked at the Private Secretary who stared at him, waiting for a response to what they were discussing. He did not want to sound like a fool even though he looks like one with that gaping mouth he has right now, trying to say something. He eventually spoke, "Well...Yes...Well now, let's talk...I know we had a discussion and there were conclusions..." The Private Secretary nodded in agreement, smiling a bit. This encouraged the Minister, raising his chin up at his Private Secretary with a toothy smile. "Conclusions that led to another conclusion, two or so, three, four, five." The Private Secretary kept smiling in the same width. What the hell is he saying? "Conclusions, all in all, have confused me. Thereby forcing me to ask you for the reaffirmation of the information that we have exchanged in our discussion."

"Are you asking me to repeat what we were talking about, Minister?" The Minister's smile fell, crumpling to a frown. He looked like a fool and sounded like one. Great. He decided to give up to whatever the Private Secretary thinks of him now. He also decided to slowly nod. The Private Secretary widely smiled. He reached in his bag to take out a picture, "Look here, Minister," and gave it to the Minister. It is printed, "Is this- Ah! The new website. I like it." The Minister smiled in approval, both the picture and that he remembered: They were talking about the new government website. "Colorful is perfect. The public wants graphics and all that decorations online. So fun, friendly, and fantastic. My three favourite Fs." The Private Secretary raised an eyebrow, "Minster?" he asked. The Minister raised both of his eyebrows, asking, "What's wrong, Mister Creachmhaoil?" The Private Secretary said, "That's the old website."

"Ah...I see." The Minister could not help it but think: Fuck me now. He said, "Give me the new website." The Private Secretary and obliged but the Minister is impatient, "Quickly!" The paper received, the Minister reprieved. That is what he thought at least. He cried, "HA-HA! I like the new website!" continuing, "Simple is perfect. The public does not want graphics and all that decorations online. So simple, sleek, and straight-to-the-point. My three favorite Ss." The Private Secretary curled the side of his lips, making a slight smile that invokes the thought of mischief or, plainly, ill-thought. He then whispered to himself, "I wonder what happened to the three Fs." The Minister heard it but not clearly so he asked, "What?" to which, of course, the Private Secretary replied with another shaking head.

The Minister, wanting to reprieve himself of with everything he said so far, inspected the picture to see anything questionable to capitalize for his intentions. He notice two and asked, "Why are we using that crown? That's not the Crown of Pargesians." The Private Secretary nodded, finally something to talk about. He replied, "Well, it's just a placeholder. Digital Services are still working on it." The Minister nodded. That is one done. The second one will be his saving grace so he went on to say, "I have another question." The Private Secretary nodded, "Yes, Minister?"

"Why are we using cookies- Are we're going to sell cookies to maintain the website?"

[Pargesia]

|| The New Stradian Caller ||
A caller from New Strade has some interesting questions for MOI

City of New Strade
22 Victory Residences

This site uses cookies for easy use. Click here to learn more about cookies Gov.PG || Ministry of Information Home | About Pargesia | The Ministry The Minister Responsible I serve the people in the name of The King, Our Liberty and Democracy! - On the steps of Old Ministry Building on 16 March 2018 The Right Honorable Éamann Enrigh, TD, PC is the Minister of Information. He is the Deputy to the Dáil of his constituency, Greater New Kenlis, elected in 1991 and earned distinction in the backbench for his efforts to unite the party in its vote against the Political Harmony Bill that would have allowed the fascist National Pargesian Union, and other parties alike or in coalition, back in the Dáil Parges. He replaced Dr. Ernest Parks, PC, PhD on 14 March 2018 after the arrest of Dr. Parks on charge of murdering his wife in 2016 when her body was finally found in February 2018. Enrigh intends to propose the Accessible Information Act that will allow citizens to freely access government documents and files that contain their personal records and other information. This proposal is his answer for the ongoing question on the Pargesian National Database Act of 1979. The Parliamentary Private Secretary Brigit Haonghusa, TD She is the Deputy to the Dáil for New Strade appointed by the Minister. As Parliamentary Private Secretary, she is his eyes and ears in parliament. The Ministerial Team Ready to serve the Nation, waiting for your question. Please contact The Private Secretary Conaire Creachmhaoil He is in charge of spreading news about decisions or other information asked by the Minister Responsible. He also keeps the Ministerial Diary that has the schedule of the Minister, particularly his appointments and important events where he is participating. Tel +888 511 220 90 - 305 Email ConaireCreachmhaoil@MOI.pg B-Board MOIPrivateSecretary Or his deputy The Deputy Private Secretary Tasach McLaughlin Tel +888 511 220 90 - 306 Email LynkelnMcLaughlin@MOI.pg B-Board MOIDeputyPrivateSecretary The Ministerial Administrators The Permanent Secretary Gareth Domnall He is in charge of internal affairs in The Ministry, primarily responsible for administrative policy. His actions are in accordance or prescribed by the Minister Responsible. Domnall also offers advice in policymaking. Private Secretary Donald Dinsmore | Tel +888 511 220 90 - 309 The Deputy Permanent Secretary for Public Relations Jack Cartwright He specializes on, plainly, public relations in The Ministry and coordinates with the Permanent Secretary to give the Minister Responsible information on relevant issues, proposals and other affairs. Assistant Secretary Chaim Powers | Tel +888 511 220 90 - 310 The Deputy Permanent Secretary for MOI Digital Services Tomás MacDurcáin He specializes on arts & design and information technology to properly coordinate MOI Digital Services in The Ministry. With his experience, the Permanent Secretary authorized him to act independently. He no longer needs to regularly meet the Permanent Secretary to keep him updated. Instead, they may meet anytime or when the Permanent Secretary asks him. Assistant Secretary Jaden Hale | Tel +888 511 220 90 - 311 Help | Cookies | Contact | Terms and conditions Built by MOI Digital Services © Crown copyright

Catraoine Nialláin is a simple woman with simple needs - One of which requires the help of the Ministry of Information. She has received a message in her cellphone: "Do you like the new website? If you do, please rate us at the site of the Ministry of Information, please click the link. https://www.Gov.pg/polls/newsite2018" This is a text message from 'MOI Digital Services'. What is the Ministry of Information up to now? She decided that the answer might lie in The Ministry itself so she looked up their website to find a telephone number, and she did. She will call the Assistant Secretary to the Deputy Permanent Minister of Information for Public Relations.

Patiently waiting, she twirled the loop-de-loop phone cord on her physical end, certainly not interrupting anything digital, unless she fiddles with that electrical tape in the middle. It was a threat to her wellbeing until, "Hello?" a woman greeted, "And yes, this is the Ministry of Information. I'm the Assistant Secretary to the Deputy Permanent Minister of Information for Public Relations. How can I help you?" Just as Catraoine thought. She could not believe it. Talking to what she called a 'government official'. She is talking to an actual government official. She cannot believe it. She cannot believe what she is experiencing right now. She thought, 'I can't believe what I'm experiencing right now.'

"Hello?" She. Is. "Hello?" Talking. To. "Hello, are you still there?" An. Actual. "Are you there, hello?" Government. Official. "HELLO!" Catraoine jerks her head at the scream, slipping the phone handset off her grasp in the process. She quickly took it back into her hold and said, "Yes, I could hear you. Sorry." The Assistant Secretary could not believe it. Another simple woman with the same simple needs and a simple brain. For this one, she is expecting less for the latter. She took a quick breath and asked, "It's fine, Ma'am. Please tell us your name and how can I help." Catroaine can't believe it. Talking to an actual government official. Her thoughts repeating the same things over and over as it races to find what to say now. She did realize she has repeated the same things over and over as she races to find what to say now. Anyway, she said, "Well. Um. Miss Assistant Secretary. I'm Catraoine Nialláin and I would like to ask about this text message I got from your ministry's 'Digital Services." The Assistant Secretary replied, "Hello Miss Nialláin. Now, what is it would you like to ask about this text mess-" Catraoine interrupted, she still could not believe it, "I'm talking to a government official! I could not believe it! OH! Sorry, those were my thoughts speaking."

The Assistant Secretary, though perplexed with what the caller just said, lets it go. There might be more pressing matters from more important callers. The need to end this call has become her foremost priority. "It's okay," and says, "What's your question about the text message?" Catroaine did not believe it. She did not ask this, clarifying, "Excuse me, what text message?" The Assistant Secretary did not believe it, not either, definitely in a different perspective. But she also did not understand, asking, "But excuse me, Ma'am. You said you'd like to ask about the text message from Digital Services." Catroaine remembered! Oh joy of joys, she almost hanged up since it seemed like her question was not gonna be answered. She could not remember it anyway after the brief confusion. "Oh joy- I mean, well. I. Um. What does it mean?" Her question perplexes the Assistant Secretary back to perplexion. "What does what mean?" Catroaine snorted, "Duh, the text message." The Assistant Secretary did not follow the question and its subject, "What about the text message?" These latest words from the Assistant Secretary made Catroaine doubt the knowledge of this government official to answer her question. She needed to know if the Assistant Secretary really knows what the text message is all about.

In the meantime, she moved on to another question, "Are you a government official?" The Assistant Secretary, though understanding the question, did not really understand where this is going. But she did reply, "Yes, I am a civil servant." To which Catroaine responded, "So you're not a government official?" The Assistant Secretary was about to answer but she realized that this was gonna take a while and she did think, 'This is gonna take a while.' It may be but, not anymore; her foremost priority has been put through reconsideration, and there is a conclusion: She thought it would be best for her to pass on the caller to somebody who would know better. The Assistant Secretary, satisfied with a smile, said, "Please hold. I'll put you through to the Deputy Permanent Secretary for MOI Digital Services."

Catroaine nodded. It was too late when she realized that the Assistant Secretary cannot see her. She thought, 'I can't believe it. She didn't answer my question.' 'No matter', she also thought. Another government person, who might know better, might be the best to answer her question. It took a while until somebody, another woman, greeted, "Hello, Missus Nialláin. What can I do for you?" To which Catroaine immediately, "I'm not married!" replied, which confused the woman on the other end. She asked, "Why did you-" and realized eventually, "Ah. I'm so sorry, Ma'am. Miss Nialláin, what can I do for you?" Catroaine really could not believe. She is not just talking to any government official, she is talking to a government minister. She must be a Councillor of State, not just a lowly Deputy to the Dail. She greeted, "Hello, Minister!" If she, the Assistant Secretary to the Deputy Permanent Secretary for MOI Digital Service, was confused earlier then she was even more confused now. She reacted, "What?" Catroaine could not believe this. What is it now? She asked, "What?" The Assistant Secretary was tempted to hang up but she had to do her duty: Put up with simple citizens with their simple needs and brain, and that bit about The King, Liberty, and Democracy.

"I am the Assistant Secretary to the Deputy Permanent Secretary for MOI Digital Services. That's M-O-I, Ministry of Information. What can I do for you, Ma'am?" Then there was silence. Catroaine did not reply. The Assistant Secretary is waiting, "Ma'am?"

Finally, the silence was broken. A long electronic beep ensues.

[Pargesia]

|| The Minister's Lovely Fruit ||
A foolish minister tries to scare his rebellious daughter

City of New Kenlis
Old Ministry Pavilion, Gwyn Palace
Private office of the Minister of Information

The Right Honorable Éamann Enrigh, TD, PC. Minister of Information and 2nd Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs. He looked at a certain online conversation on his touchscreen phone. He did not look pleased.

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Éamann Enrigh ● OFFLINE You HE IS MY BF dad, whether you like it OR NOT! Dad We'll talk at The Bending Joint. Me, you, and your mother. Dad WARNING! If you don't share, your son/daughter will disobey you forever: Down at Potter's Field A man was on his way to visit his grandfather in a five-storey apartment building. He prepared a surprise for him. Today will be the last time he will see his old man again and he does not want to miss a single thing. Tonight, he plans to give his old man a proper send-off. But then, unfortunately, he saw somebody jump off a window in the top floor. He approached the body and touched its wrist, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. It was an old man. He walked away from the dreadful scene, heading towards the building where he spotted somebody looking at him. A woman. He walked to her and asked, “Do you live here?” “Yes.” “Do you know that man?” The Woman glanced behind The Man. “I want to see his face.” The Man led The Woman to the scene. When they arrived, The Woman stood there with eyes closed. Then, with a deep breath, she opened her eyes. She looked at the dead body, starting from the bottom and slowly moving to the top. Stopping at its face. She gasped. “Oh Gods, he’s my neighbor.” She lifted her hand to her mouth, fingers pressed on her lips. She swallowed her vomit. The Man asked, “Do you have a phone?” She hesitated but she was able to say, “Yup. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll call the police.” The Man watched The Woman dial on her phone. She sneers at it when her fingers missed and dialed the wrong number. Meanwhile, The Man looked up the building and spotted an open window at the top floor. It was dark so he could not see who is in it. All other windows are closed. He pointed a finger at the window for a moment, then he pointed at another window next to it. Unlike the open window, this window had its light on. He looked back at The Woman. He watched her carefully as she spoke to The Operator. The Woman saw him looking at her. They stare at each other. When she was done, she taps on her phone and shoves it inside her pants. The Man took a gulp of breath. He asked, “Did you see anything suspicious?” She shook her head, “No. Actually, a relative came an hour ago. The Relative told me that he was gonna take The Old Man to a place called Pottersfield.” The Man nodded, “You know the place?” She continued, “No. First time, actually. Maybe some Jane Potter theme park? Maybe pottery?” She snorted. “That’s silly.” The Man raised an eyebrow, “Why?” “The Old Man’s too old for that. Broke too, unless somebody gave him a book. He was supposed to be evicted.” “Oh? Go on.” “Well, The Landlord was kind enough to let the old man stay for a month. He understood The Old Man’s situation.” “Understood The Old Man’s situation?” “Yup. Apparently, he’s on the run from a loan shark. Poor guy.” The Man turned his head to glance at the building. “Does The Landlord live in the building?” “Yup. Just next door to The Old Man’s apartment. Want me to lead you there?” The Man nodded. She went ahead, sprinting inside the building. The Man followed. Half an hour later, a police car arrived at the scene with an ambulance. The Operator informed the policeman on the scene that a woman reported an old man jumped off the building and died. Furthermore, a tenant from the fifth floor called in to report three more bodies in The Landlord’s apartment. Luckily, there is a survivor who witnessed what happened in the apartment. SOLVE THIS RIDDLE WAS IT MURDER OR SUICIDE? IF NOT SUICIDE, WHODUNNIT? IF NOT MURDER, WHY? Please send your answer to achingjaw1@mriesmail.com.pg Thankies! You im not gonna even ask dad.

Press here to type message...

[Pargesia]

|| Breaking the Skyline ||
Turning up the heat between him and the other (uninterested) him in the hallway.

City of New Strade
Ossorian-Shalumite Friendship School

"From the first day in our high-school, we can't be-lieve that we've almost reached the end of the line."

"Though from the start we fail and flunk our goals. Des-pite the trou-bles we've faced, we-still think ev-'ry-thing is fine."

"Mem-'ries we've-collected! Mo-ments we've che-rished! Let's this do this again. For one more ti-me!"

"Stop singing that song, Kellan. We're still sophomore."

Pfft. Yeah, whatever 'Mom'.

Or should I say 'Fuck off, Ashley.' That song was by Julius Man.

You know what, I'll tell him. I'm not gonna keep it in my mind like usual so,

"Fuck off."

Can't I, Kellan Wade Rutledge, President of the Book Club, have the basic right of suffering LSS?

"Just stop. No more singing."

Pushover and sourpuss. Two things Ashley Haynes will always be. Even if she needed to be the opposite, she'll always bounce back to who she is. Wonder why I'm friends with her sometimes.

"Maidin mhaith!"

Oh fuck! Now I remember.

"Ashley! Help!" I'm gonna hide behind Ashley. I need her to hide me from that Ossorian meathead.

Wait, no! Ashley don't go to him! I'm right behind you!

"C'mon Kellan, let's just get this over with. We don't want him nosing around later at lunchtime."

No! No! No! I don't care if I have. To. Pull. You.

Fuck!

Why is Ashley jacked up? She's a woman. I should go to the gym one of these days.

Oh no, that's a bad idea. HE will be there.

HE who torments my way home. HE who keeps sending me messages at night on B-Board when I'm trying to sleep. HE who embarrasses himself and me in the process.

HE. HE. HE

"Hey Nevan!"

Oh no! Don't you dare, Ashley-

"You wanna talk to Kellan?"

"Grand!"

"Fuck no Ashley. Fuck no Nevan." I'm standing my ground on this one. I can't just let Nevan look at me like a piece of meat. I'm a civilized individual, not some male prostitute for every guy who gives me that look.

Ugh!

I really want to kick him where the sun never shines and rip that smug off his face. He's probably thinking that I'll say yes to him this time.

"Howaya, Kellan?"

"Howaya am I? Well, how about...NONE. OF. YOUR. BUS-I-NESS!" That's right! I'm gonna bite back. I ain't gonna fall for your oozing masculinity, practically musk. I ain't gonna be one of those guys who just fall in love at first sight.

"Sorry, Nevan. He has blue balls right now."

FUCK YOU ASHLEY!

"SHUT UP ASHLEY! DON'T LISTEN TO HIM NEVAN!" I'M SO GONNA PUSH HER LATER AT THE GYM. I don't care if her face gets caught on the treadmill. She deserves it. Big time.

"Fadhb ar bith!"

This cocky fuckboy should go away and, I don't know, fuck other boys?

Isn't that how it has been for him? Not that I'd care. Obviously.

"Kellan, Nevan said 'no problem' if that's making you frown like an old lady."

OLD LADY?! FUCK. YOU.

"I'm really sorry, Nevan. I think it's a bad time right now for you and...Him to interact. Anyway, we got classes and the bell will-"

"RRIIIIINNNNGGG!"

And we're saved by the bell!

"But you and Kellan are gonna have the same class anyway."

Wait what- Oh fuck! Oh fuck me!

No!

It's Tuesday! That means English with...

"Cheers! Tis fine. I like Kellan bold."

Bold? BOLD?! I'M NOT GONNA GET NAKED FOR- Oh.

Ah. That bold.

Fucking Ossorian English slangs.

"Bye! Have fun you two!"

"FUCK YOU ASHLEY!" If I could throw some bombs at her like in Arzell. I don't care if we share Shalumite ancestry, she's a bitch.

But she's something I need to deal with later. For now, I should leave before-

"Wait!"

What the- Nevan! He's holding my hand!

"Let go of my hand, Nevan." And he still has that smug smile on his face. Fuck. Why does he have to be cute?

"What if I don't want to, Kellan?"

Fuck. Off. Ugh!

Tsk. At this rate, we'll be late for class.

"Just. Just. Let's go. We need to go before Mister Petrikov punishes us."

"Lead the way, cutie."

I prefer him speaking in Ossorian. That way, I won't immediately understand what he's saying. But I'm impressed. He's speaking a lot more English than usual. Suppose he realized how stupid he is for not knowing more about one of our national languages. I pride myself in knowing the municipal languages of Russian and Syaran. Most of my classmates in all of our language classes think they only need to learn English and Ossorian. Well, that's very lazy of them.

"Peace in Ossoria!"

"Peace in Shalum!"

"Peace in Arzell!"

Oh not, these idiots again. For the third time this month.

"Peace in Ossoria!"

"Peace in Shalum!"

"Peace in Arzell!"

Don't they realize they're cutting classes?

Actually, they ARE cutting classes. They're doing it on purpose.

So they do have brains after all. They're smart enough to get their way out of class and avoid their quizzes and get special homeworks at the end of the day without detention.

Boy.

Wherever this school is going, it's gonna be somewhere that smells like a dead homosexual donkey's asshole.

"Peace in Ossoria!"

"Feck, get that Shalumite hussy!"

What?

"GAAAH!"

He's got a knife! And he- He's- Aiming it at me!

"AAH!" FUCK ME! I'M GONNA-

"GAA- OFPH."

Wait.

What. No.

What's going on?

Wait, I should open my eyes.

Oh. I'm- My hands are fine. My arms. My body. My face. No blood. That's good. But where's-

"PLEASE STOP! I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS YOUR BOYFRIEND!"

WHOSE BOYFRIEND?!

MY BOYFRIEND?!

Ah. HE. HIM. Nevan. There he is. Choking that guy who almost stabbed- Oh fuck!

"GLACH! UGH!"

"STOP NEVAN! YOU'VE SUBDUED HIM!" Oh my God. He's going to kill him! I should- I need to call for help, "SOMEBODY CALL MISTER MCLAUGHLIN!" I hope he gets here quick.

No.

No, he's not gonna make it in time.

"SOMEBODY, ANYBODY! STOP NEVAN!"

"I'm gonna kill you!"

"STOP NEVAN!" Oh fuck. Oh no. He's really gonna kill him.

"I'm gonna. Kill you!"

"Stad! Stad! Stad!" Oh Gods, don't do it Nevan.

Hey!

Somebody's- A lot of...Bodies coming here.

"Stad. Nevan. You gonna kill yer man there.."

Ah. It's his buddies in the football team.

"That's it. Grand, Nevan."

Oh thank the Gods. He's letting him go.

"Very grand, Nevan."

I've never seen them up close. I don't even know them. I just watch their games and usually Nevan comes my way at every end but he never talked about his teammates.

"C'mon, Nevan. We don't garda giving out on us."

But I have to say, this is eye candy. They're all eye candy.

"You're gonna be late for class though."

OH FUCK!

I ALMOST FORGOT!

I NEED TO RUN AND-

WHAT THE-

NEVAN?!

NOT MY HAND AGAIN!

"LET GO OF ME! MISTER PETRIKOV'S CLASS-"

"Stop, Kellan. You're not going anywhere without me."

"Nevan, you two should go. We are gonna keep this brutal slag here until the guarda comes."

Yeah, that's right. Let's listen to that good-looking blondie and leave.

"No, we'll stay."

WHAT?!

"BUT WE'RE GONNA BE LATE-"

"I SAY WE STAY, KELLAN!"

I- I- I will not- I am not- I cannot- I- Oh fuck.

"Fine. But don't talk to me when we're sent to detention." That should keep him quiet for a while. Now, I'll just- Tsk. I'll just- Ugh. Why is he not letting me go? I'm just gonna go to a bathroom.


"Let go, I need to go to the bathroom." And what's with that look on his face? I know I hate his smug but I hate angry people. I don't wanna be near them. Don't wanna be like them. They're prone to blowing up and, sometimes, blow up other people.

"I go with you."

What? Is he listening to himself? Why should I- Ugh.

You know what. I'm done.

"Fine, whatever. I just need to go to the bathroom." I'm sure he's gonna let go of me when I take a piss. He's perverted but not THAT perverted.

But this is weird. Him holding my hand. Me going to bathroom. People still watching us. Yup. All of those students cutting classes taking us in. Probably thinking about something perverted. We look like we're up to something no good and it's not the other sense of the phrase. The more sexual sense.


Now that we're in, no people around, everything's good!

Now I'll- Oh. I'll- Oh no. He's not letting me go!

"I need to pee, Nevan."

"Then go. I stay behind you."

What.

The.

Fuck?!

[Pargesia]

|| The Perving ||
On their social media while in detention.

City of New Strade
Room 205 "Detention Room"

Status: Being perved in detention Kellan Wade Rutledge Student at OSFS Birthday: March 2003 Place of residence: Greater New Strade Interests: Books, music, and more books. Likes: OSFC, Julius Man, New Strade Public Library, The Bending Joint, and 100+ others... PRIVATE Timeline can be viewed by Buddies only Privacy Terms Advertising Choosing Ads Cookies About Memories Jobs Developers Help Memories Co. © 2018 This service is licensed for social networking by the Ministry of Information.

Status: "Perving" on crush Nevan Conrad Student at OSFS Birthday: October 2001 Place of residence: Baile Nua Interests: Kellan Wade Rutledge, Ossorian Football, Hurling, Learning English Likes: Kellan Wade Rutledge, Mary's English Tutorials, New Strade OFC, The Pargesian Monarchy, and 200+ others... PRIVATE Timeline can be viewed by Buddies only Privacy Terms Advertising Choosing Ads Cookies About Memories Jobs Developers Help Memories Co. © 2018 This service is licensed for social networking by the Ministry of Information.

[Pargesia]

|| An Unfortunate Encounter ||
Somebody is following Kellan on his way home. Is it Nevan or someone else?

City of New Strade
Alter Street

"I have no doubts, Mary." I'm positive that I know who that hooded weirdo is. He's been following since I passed a block.

HE. HIM. But why?

I saw him playing football with his buddies. And he probably does that every day after class. Why is he here now?

And he is wearing the same clothes our activist schoolmates were wearing. Black all over with matching gloves, sunglasses, and a bandanna for a face-mask. Even his shoes.

Speaking of activist schoolmates, I was surprised that the guy who tried to stab me earlier was an outsider. Some hobbo the protesters picked up from the street for their demonstrations who turned out to be a former clerk at Cross' Supermarket. He was fired because he harassed people with English names. They explained that they were helping the guy by paying him and ask him to participate in their protest in return.

I'm starting to think that you're being paranoid.

"Pfft." And a snort to that. It's not paranoia. If anything, it's concern.

"You know, you should enjoy. Might as well fuck the guy if that's what he wants."

NO! NO! NO!

"I WILL NOT FUCK THAT DOUCHEBAG!" THAT'S THE LAST THING I'LL EVER DO ON THIS EARTH, EVEN IF ME AND HIM WERE THE LAST PEOPLE ON EARTH. Anyway, it's useless. He's not a woman. I'm not a woman. The human race already ended at that point.

"DON'T SCREAM! Don't forget we're on the phone. That hurts. Anyway, it might stop him from chasing you.

Hmm...That's actually a good point.

If you allow him a one night stand with you then it's all over.

That's a great idea! Only if sex wasn't the catch. Eww. I'm not gonna let him have a piece of me.

"But then...I'm gonna be fucked."

"So? You've been ranting about him for long. You want to get rid of him."

"But-"

"It shouldn't be difficult. I mean, you're not a virgin. Right?"

Well...I'm...Is it counted even? Well, if a virgin means not fucked in the ass then I suppose.

"Nope. I'm a virgin."

"That's the problem."

Yeah. That's the problem. I don't have experience with anal sex. I don't like it. It seemed painful. Especially for guys done by guys. But a lot of guys who had their first time didn't feel the same way after. But the thought of something pushed in my ass for the first time? It's really making me uncomfortable.

"If you're afraid of getting your cherry popped, I suggest you fuck somebody with a small dick."

That's just sad. I'm not gonna go that low for a solution.

"Hell no. That's sad and I'm not that down on the down low. I'm doing my first time the right way."

"So you'll just have sex with Conrad?"

Yeah, that could...I mean- I- Ugh!

"I don't know. I'm just gonna figure it out. I need to think about something right now."

"Alright. I'll leave you to that. Bye!"

"Bye! And thanks!"

That's it for today with Mary. Sad she's in college now. We used to chat at her English tutorial center in town.

Ugh. That's where HE is studying English right now. Well, not 'right now' as in 'right now'. I wonder what made it difficult for him to learn a national language in middle school. He couldn't have dropped out unless he was in some kind of trouble, in school or out. Well, I'm not gonna be surprised. He repeated sophomore because of his bad grades in English, Math, and Science. And he barely passed his other subjects. I saw his grade card when he was too distracted looking at me at lunchtime sometime ago. It's very disappointing. Suppose that's what happens when you invest all of your time in sports.

I used to pity that guy. I first met him in the first day of school. He couldn't keep his eyes of me when Mister Petrikov introduced himself. Then the next several classes we shared.

When it was time to prepare for the next class, he confronted me at my locker. I was surprised. It was so sudden. He just tapped my shoulder and introduced himself with his heavy Ossorian accent. I actually found him very cute back then. And he's already a beautiful man. Then everything changed because of one question. He asked me, 'Wanna fuck?'

I'm not gonna think about what happened next. I swore at him and then he spoke in Ossorian, probably trying to explain himself. Then I screamed that he should go back to middle school or learn English at Mary's before he talked to me again.

A week later or so, I was surprised to see him there at Mary's when I passed by.

He always looked at me with that idiotic smile and hypnotic gaze. So I wasn't sure if he is happy about being there or me looking straight at him. He's been studying English with Mary's grandmother, Missus Enrigh. A former English teacher at OSFS. She's still limber and I admire that in old people. I appreciate that they make the most of what time they have left before the end.

But sometimes I wonder what Nevan's learning there. When he came up to me the next day in the hallway, smirking at me like a little child with a prank up his sleeve, ready to be deployed. This I thought back then and it made me look at him carefully and I mean really carefully. So I was busy looking for something out of place before he could do anything about it. In the end, I found nothing but some strands popping up and a smolder that I just discovered. I really believed that he has something hiding somewhere in his body. Whatever it was, there was none. The only thing he did next was lean a bit closer, pushing me against a locker, and breath against my ear. He whispered, 'Wanna have a quick one?'

English improved. It was kinda funny actually.


Wait.


HOLD ON!

I'm not supposed to feel comfortable with that thought.

I'm supposed to hate HIM. HE. HE. HE. HIM THAT I HATE VERY MUCH.


Speaking of, he's still following me.

Well, at least he's not some weird stalker who I don't know.


You know what, I'll call him. I still don't like whatever he's doing. It's super weird and he never did this before.

I'm gonna look for his number. It's hard since I listed it under a name I promised myself that I'll forget.

It's not like I use the number. In fact, this is the first time.

And there. So I named it "Ossorian Dickhead."

Now, let's dial up this fucker.

For effect, I'm gonna turn around and look at him. It's gonna be so epic.

He's so stupid to think that I'll be fooled by his bullshit stalker...Shit. Bullshit stalkershit.

And we're on the line.

"Tráthnóna maith! Hi Kellan! What do you want? Ah. Anything you want."

"Keep your pants on, pervert. I got you in your little act."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I'm talking about. I could see you here right in front of me."

"I don't understand."

"What do you mean 'I don't understand?' You're right here in front of me. In fact, you're looking right now. Just standing there like some weirdo. I could see you holding-"

Wait.

He's not holding anything.

He's just standing there.

Fuck.

"Sorry but I'm in my shite. I don't understand."

"Ha-Ha!" great laugh, Kellan, "I'm just...Kidding. He-He!"

I need to get out of here.

"Okay?"

"Bye!"

"Wait-"

Fuck!

Should I run?


Oh fuck! FUCK! HE'S RUNNING!

SHIT!

RUN!


BUT I NEED TO FIND SOMEPLACE TO HIDE!

FUCK!

WHY DID I WALK HERE?!

RUN! RUN!


THIS AREA IS FULL OF CONDEMNED HOUSING.

NOBODY'S GONNA BE HERE.

WHAT THE FUCK!

RUN! RUN! RUN!

Maybe I could lose him if I find that alleyway to Baile Park. That might discourage him.

A lot of people should be walking around there at this time.

The dusk looks great so they must be there.

Yeah, this might-

Oh fuck.

WHERE DID THESE BAGS OF TRASH CAME FROM?


OH SHIT.

HE CORNERED ME.


"What the- Hey!" he fucking pushed me to the ground, "Ow."

What is he- Why is he taking off his-

Oh.

No!

NO!

NO! NO! NO!

I need to get out of here. I need to stand up-

"Agh," he's- He's stepping on my-, "Fucking pervert! Get your foot off my groin. It hurts."

Is he- That is his-

"Oh please, not that. Anything but that."

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna do you tonight, but we'll do something you won't forget.

[Pargesia]

|| Finding Kellan ||
It did not take much effort. Only much patience.

City of New Strade
Alter Street

Status: Looking for Kellan Ashley Haynes Student at OSFS Birthday: April 2003 Place of residence: Greater New Strade Interests: Science, physical fitness, women, dogs. Likes: OSFC, TRAIN New Strade, Blender, PEPA - New Strade, and 50+ others... Ashley Haynes posted on March 14, 2018 at 4:46 PM Kellan where the heck are you? 1 like Kellan Wade Rutledge (March 14, 2018 at 6:46 PM) Umm...Home? Ashley Haynes (March 14, 2018 at 6:48 PM) cool. ive been waiting on b board. Load old posts... Privacy Terms Advertising Choosing Ads Cookies About Memories Jobs Developers Help Memories Co. © 2018 This service is licensed for social networking by the Ministry of Information.

[Pargesia]

|| Good Ol' Buzzboard ||
B-Board feed in Kellan's account between five o'clock and eight at night.

City of New Strade
205A 41st Street

╰★╮ B-Board Buzz Kellan @KellanWade | Buzzes 358 | Follows 64 | Followers 78 Ash March 14 2018 5:20 PM @Ash143 @KellanWade Kellan where the heck are you? 14 ♢ BUZZUP - 2 ♢ BUZZDOWN - 20 ☆ REBUZZ Kellan March 14 2018 6:47 PM @KellanWade @Ash143 See my comment on your Memories post. 21 ♢ BUZZUP - 0 ♢ BUZZDOWN - 32 ☆ REBUZZ IsHeCat March 14 2018 7:26 PM @CatHeIs✔ Heyo Nighto @JaneOdeo #SayingHeyo #HeyoNighto 50 ♢ BUZZUP - 5 ♢ BUZZDOWN - 41 ☆ REBUZZ MOIPrivateSecretary March 14 2018 7:30 PM @MOIPrivateSecretary✔ @CatNialláin Sorry Ma'am, we don't have the power to revoke bizz permits. If u want, ask @Mintaxprisec for more. #TheBendingJoint 169 ♢ BUZZUP - 345 ♢ BUZZDOWN - 273 ☆ REBUZZ MOIDeputyPrivateSecretary March 14 2018 7:35 PM @MOIDeputyPrivateSecretary✔ @CatNialláin What @MOIPrivateSecretary said. #TheBendingJoint 479 ♢ BUZZUP - 482 ♢ BUZZDOWN - 154 ☆ REBUZZ Nevan Conrad March 14 2018 8:09 PM @NevanPetarConrad @MOIDeputyPrivateSecretary that is a long email and account name 29 ♢ BUZZUP - 0 ♢ BUZZDOWN - 3 ☆ REBUZZ Nevan Conrad March 14 2018 8:14 PM @NevanPetarConrad @KellanWade please dont sinezone me 19 ♢ BUZZUP - 2 ♢ BUZZDOWN - 26 ☆ REBUZZ Éamann Enrigh March 14 2018 8:28 PM @ÉamannEnrigh✔ @MaryEnrigh Emry, look at my new profile pic. As you kids say, it is lit. #StillGotIt #FeelingYoung 3.87k ♢ BUZZUP - 241 ♢ BUZZDOWN - 6.48k ☆ REBUZZ Mary Enrigh March 14 2018 8:32 PM @MaryEnrigh I have a feeling that #TheBendingJoint is not gonna go away soon enough. 40 ♢ BUZZUP - 9 ♢ BUZZDOWN - 37 ☆ REBUZZ See more buzzes (69) © 2018 B-Board About | Help | Terms | Privacy | Blog | Status | Apps | Jobs | Marketing | Businesses | Developers This service is licensed for social networking by the Ministry of Information.

[Pargesia]

|| A New Logo for the Ministry ||
New things abound are often good but sometimes bad.

City of New Kenlis
Old Ministry Pavilion, Gwyn Palace
Private office of the Minister of Information

This site uses cookies for easy use. Click here to learn more about cookies Home | About Pargesia | The Ministry Welcome I am the Minister of Information. Welcome to our ministry's official website. - Éamann Enrigh What we do? The Ministry of Information has wide-ranging tasks and does its best to serve the public. These tasks include making videos or infographics for government publicity, national pride, and public awareness. It is our specialty to formulate policies and administer law on industries of advertising, audiovisual, anime, content, information, film, gaming, radio, online service, software, and video games to ensure competence and proper conduct. We are also responsible for MOI Digital Services who create and design websites for The Ministry and His Majesty's Government. People at Channel 4, the official state channel, also work for us. They help us fulfill these tasks and responsibilities. These are just a few of us 5,000 men and women working to serve the public, to serve you. What we don't do? A lot of people have misconceptions of what The Ministry does and so we would like to give examples of what misconception and then explain why it is not true. 1. The Ministry is biased and may impose unfair regulatory practices to media enterprises they don't like. This is false. While the Ministry is led by somebody, like me, who is a partisan representative elected by the people and his party is sponsored by a variety of enterprises, one of which might be in the media industry, the Minister of Information's job is to do nothing but serve the Nation and not his or any party's interests. 2. The Ministry is planning to create guidelines for internet use and will monitor and censor internet content in Pargesia. This is false. The New Millenium Act prohibits review and collection of data without prior permission or, according to the Revised Criminal Rights and Procedures Act of 2001, a search warrant. However, a warrant cannot be issued by The Ministry. Only a judge can do so. 3. Media enterprises are not regulated by the Ministry of Economy. This is false and may be confusing. My Ministry only regulates their existence as a media enterprise and not as an enterprise. It is the Economy Ministry's job to formulate policy and administer law on enterprises in general. 4. The Ministry did not properly fine Memories Co. for illegally collecting GPS data of Emry Smartphones. This is false. It has been properly resolved in Pargesia vs. Memories Co. in 2016. 5. The Ministry is not condemning Dr. Ernest Parks who murdered his own wife. It is not the Ministry's job to condemn Dr. Parks. This includes his crimes, and any other crime committed by any other Pargesian (Unless related to media regulation but we can only provide cooperation). The Pargesian judiciary will be the proper government authority who will justly condemn and punish him, like any other criminal. Help | Cookies | Contact | Terms and conditions Built by MOI Digital Services © Crown copyright

"Good job, Tomás! I like the new logo." The Right Honorable Éamann Enrigh, TD, PC, crucially Minister of Information at this moment, praised. But he who is praised felt otherwise and feared something more than what has been praised about him. Tomás saw this situation before and it has been repeating like an occasionally broken record for the past two weeks since they began work on the new logo. And the Minister is about to do it, "Colorful is perfect. The public wants colorful. They want graphics. You know, all that decorations online-" And then Tomás interrupted with a load start, "SO FUN! Friendly. Fantastic. Your three favourite Fs." The Minister did not understand what it was about but he lacked the guts to do what he needed to know more about it.

"Minister?" Conaire Creachmhaoil, Private Secretary to the Minister of Information, barged into the office. A nuisance to Tomás. A savior to the Minister. He has something important for the Minister but he noticed that Tomás, Tomás MacDurcáin who is Deputy Permanent Secretary for MOI Digital Services, is also here. He must be currently engaged with the Minister. Boy, Conaire was right. Tomás needed to brief the Minister on an online petition against The Bending Joint. People behind it have been asking the Ministry of Information in all its online contacts about every single detail mainstream media releases, even things that does not have anything to do with the entire incident. It has become annoying and too much to bear with simple responses.

The Minister quickly responded before Tomás could say anything else, "Ah, what is Conaire?" Conaire noticed the interesting, almost mischievous, tone in the Minister's voice. It was familiar but Conaire could not put a finger. Conaire did respond, just in the nick of time before Tomás could say anything in their second moment of awkward silence, "Minister, it's about Shalum."

The Minister nearly jumped in glee as he nodded so hard that it looked as if he was headbanging and it was continuous, even when he smiled at Tomás with full mischief. Something that Tomás did not need to know or even see but he knew that the Minister has found his way out of the embarrassing situation he has put himself in. The Minister asked, "Tomás, thank you but I must ask you to leave," adding, "We'll talk later when we're done with foreign affairs." Tomás wanted to roll his eyes but he settled with a mocking bow from the neck, to which the Minister found amusing. Perhaps impressed with what seemed like a sign of respect. Is it his high ministerial portfolio or his seemingly senatorial wit? Two questions that cannot be answered due to the fact that both are simply baseless. Most of it.

Once Tomás was out, the Minister heavily sighed in great relief. Conaire just smiled at the Minister, confused with what just happened. The Minister said, "Thank you, Conaire." Conaire was about to ask why but he just shook his head and stared at the Minister, waiting for further instruction. The Minister just grinned but his jaw began to hurt and numb in pain. He need to move his mouth muscle before he felt the need to groan out pain like a big old man-baby, "So, what's the problem about Shalum?" Conaire nodded and did what he was supposed to do, "Shalum tried to put bases in Pargesia." The Minister's eyes shot wide open in shock but it quickly turned into amusement, then wild amusement, "Ha-Ha-Ha-H! HA-Haa-HA-HA-HA!"

The Minister waited for giggling from the young Private Secretary, having fun like a naughty school-girl. But it never came. Instead, Conaire gave him a good look down. He looked like an eager freshman college student trying to pass his thesis to his professor whose head is in the clouds, including the moment that they are sharing right now. Eventually, the Minister gritted his teeth and asked, "How did you know about this?" The Private Secretary filled his lungs with air and breathed out, "We're the Ministry of Information." To which the Minister replied, "That doesn't make any sense."

"Sometimes, somebody is surprised why somebody else is still Minister." Gareth Domnall, Permanent Under Secretary of the Ministry of Information, has joined the Minister and a junior colleague, the Private Secretary, in this room filled with antique and modern replicas of what was lost or hidden in the office. But the Permanent Under Secretary, alternatively Permanent Secretary, has more important concerns. It is in fact the least of everybody's interests in the room. Especially the Minister who felt insulted and asked Gareth to clarify what he just said, "Why is that and who are you talking about?" But the Permanent Secretary said, "Whip's been talking about a cabinet reshuffle." This cleared any more suspicion the Minister had for the Permanent Secretary. The Minister said, "Heh. That wrinkly ass bitch can talk but that's it. She'll never stand up against any cabinet minister." The Permanent Secretary added, "On the contrary, she was the reason why Doctor Parks was out." The Minister felt the need to laugh but it was no laughing matter and said, "He's already out because of what he did. No need for her."

The Permanent Secretary nodded to that and turned around, away from the gaze of the Minister, and focused on the Private Secretary. To him, he smirked. And Conaire smiled again. The Minister did not see the smirk but the Permanent Secretary's back turned on him was enough for him to notice something is up. He chose that the best course of action on this suspicious circumstance is to ignore. It is enough that he is quite unsettled. But he remembered why he was really unsettled for: He needed to talk about something. He took out his phone, tapping away to turn it on and access an application. Attention invested in it, he nodded at his two servants of civil service and pointed at himself, gesturing at them to approach. To them, he showed an article:

This site uses cookies for easy use. Click here to learn more about cookies About Pargesia >> Pargesia - The Royals and Imperials The National Coat of Arms (Greater) List of Pargesian monarchs Monarchs who reigned over the Ossorian colonies in Pargesia, the United Ossorian Provinces of Pargesia, and present-day sovereign state of the Commonwealth of Pargesia. Prior to Pargesian independence from the High Kingdom of Ossoria, Governor Alter of the United Ossorian Provinces of Pargesia had three proposals for sovereign Pargesia in accordance with the Pargesia Act of 1897. First was a constitutional parliamentary republic led by a popularly-elected president, second was that the Ossorian monarchy will remain but Pargesia will be a sovereign state, establishing a personal union in Pargesia, and third and lastly was a Pargesian monarchy without a personal union but the monarch will descend from the ruling dynasty of the Ossorian monarchy. The first and third proposal were presented to Queen Gwyn of Ossoria while the second was personally rejected by Governor Alter at the last minute. Queen Gwyn personally made a similar proposal but the Governor insisted on either of the presented. The Queen reluctantly accepted the third. It is given to Ossorian sovereigns as an eternal gift that symbolizes the gratitude of Pargesia to Ossorian colonization and the bond between Pargesia and Ossoria as two sovereign states. The first Pargesian monarch is under dispute due to the attempts of other monarchies to colonize Pargesia. {1ST AND 2ND NATIONS' COLONIAL EXPEDITION: Bill's Edit} {3RD NATION'S COLONIAL EXPEDITION: Tyler's Edit} {4th NATION'S COLONIAL EXPEDITION: Muirinn's Edit} ... Page under construction We are sorry for the inconvenience Please go to "Contact" page for missing content or other questions It will enable us to lead you to the answers you need ... Help | Cookies | Contact | Terms and conditions Built by MOI Digital Services © Crown copyright

"Why are their edits not done yet?" The Minister looked pleased at himself. Happy that he has found something that might steer their conversation back to Shalum and end his streak of embarrassment. The Permanent Secretary shook his head and said, "Don't know really. For specifics, you could ask Tomas." Finally, something the Minister can talk about that nobody else knows too well. He might even consider making some stuff up. This was quickly crushed when the Permanent Secretary continued, "But I can tell you that Murinn and Bill are writers for the TNS," and continued, Honestly, I forgot about Tyler."

"Minister, you haven't explained to me why the Ministry of Information could not have known about Shalum's request." This is when the Minister facepalmed himself. Of course they would know. He, the Minister, is the 2nd Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs. Little did he know that the Private Secretary was actually planning to talk about stopping the rumors spreading across the Ministry of Foreign Affairs about such a deal. They needed to purge the rumors before it leaked to the public where mainstream media can use it to their hearts content. Complete with the sight of politicians trying to leap the wall of political scandal possibilities. 'A colossal political disaster', just what the Minister said to his Parliamentary Private Secretary before she went to the Private Secretary to talk about the Minister's instruction to him in response to the Arzell Crises.

Of course, the Minister, being a nitwit at this very moment, did what he has done earlier. He believes it might solve the problem even though it might be very weird. Eventually, he did it: Awkward silence.

The Private Secretary and the Permanent Secretary shared glances and joined in what has become the first ever departamental staring contest: Ministers versus Civil Servants. What a spectacle to behold, besides that colorful pair the Minister has. He got it from his daughter Mary "Emry" Enrigh. It is his reading glasses and he forgot to take it off. He was reading a TNS article on The Bending Joint and TNS. Both old but recent enough to look back into.

[Pargesia]

|| A New Logo? ||
Sometimes bad things are abound but often turn out good.

City of New Kenlis
Old Ministry Pavilion, Gwyn Palace
Private office of the Minister of Information

"Why is it dark blue and dark green?" said Brigit Haonghusa, TD to her parliamentary superior, The Right Honorable Éamann Enrigh, TD, PC. She is inferior to him parliamentary for she is the Parliamentary Private Secretary to the Minister of Information - Who is Enrigh himself. Speaking of Enrigh, "Well...Um," he does not know what to say, "You see...Well," and has decided to perform ministerial countermeasures to hard or unanswerable questions, "As the Minister of Information, I am responsible for the duties this department obligates me to perform as its Minister Responsible. This...Administrative issue is well under the Permanent Under Secretary of the Ministry and so it is not appropriate for me to address such- Such."

Brigit rolled her eyes and took out her touchscreen phone. With at least a dozen taps, she thrusted the screen on Enrigh's face. Nearly. The Minister of course naturally responded by skipping a step backward, away from what might have been a collision.

Anyway, the Minister had to see what is up:

This site uses cookies for easy use. Click here to learn more about cookies Home | About Pargesia | The Ministry Pargesia - The Royals and Imperials Pargesia - The Nation at Large Help | Cookies | Contact | Terms and conditions Built by MOI Digital Services © Crown copyright

"I could barely see the difference between green and blue." Brigit said. The Minister agreed with a nod. What Brigit said is true. The colors are horribly blended. There must something to do about this. And so the Minister asked, "Yeah. That sucks," Brigit snickered at that last two words the Minister said before he continued, "What do you think should the colors be?" To which Brigit snickered loudly. The Minister looked at her with a confused pair of narrowed eyes. She continued snicker as the Minister said, "I thought you women knew which colors are the best combination or something." And she stopped snickering as soon as she realized what the Minister just said. But it is a wasteful berating if she reciprocated with her stern feminist opposition. Instead, she explained with acknowledgement to the Minister's understanding, "Sorry to disappoint, Enrigh." The Minister nodded with clear disappointment.

"Though I have an idea." The Minister looked at Brigit with hope. Brigit noticed this and continued, "Why not ask MacDurcáin?" Ah! The Minister nodded with excitement and exclaimed, "Tomás! Of course!" And Brigit added, "He'd know. I'm sure. He has the basic creativity of most teenage girls." The Minister nodded and sent a message to Tomás MacDurcáin, Deputy Permanent Secretary for MOI Digital Services, on B-Board:

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Tomás MacDurcáin ● ONLINE You Tomas, it's me Enrigh. Tomás MacDurcáin glad u told me

Press here to type message...

"HA-HA-HA-HA! I like his funny sense of loyalty." The Minister beamed. Brigit could not see it but whatever it was about 'funny sense of loyalty', it must be the opposite.

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Tomás MacDurcáin ● ONLINE You Tomas, it's me Enrigh. Tomás MacDurcáin glad u told me Tomás MacDurcáin wat do u want?

Press here to type message...

"Oh right. Almost forgot what to ask." The Minister pressed where it said 'Press here to type message' and typed a message he did:

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Tomás MacDurcáin ● ONLINE You Tomas, it's me Enrigh. Tomás MacDurcáin glad u told me Tomás MacDurcáin wat do u want? You I want a new logo. Tomás MacDurcáin isnt the new logo what you want?

Press here to type message...

"What?" The Minister blinked a few times to understand what the Deputy Permanent Secretary was trying to say. Brigit shook her head and said, "I'm just gonna go now. I trust you'll settle this issue yourself." The Minister waved a hand to permit her leave, which Brigit actually did not need and she shook her head at this too.

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Tomás MacDurcáin ● ONLINE You Tomas, it's me Enrigh. Tomás MacDurcáin glad u told me Tomás MacDurcáin wat do u want? You I want a new logo. Tomás MacDurcáin isnt the new logo what you want? You what? You *What? Tomás MacDurcáin Gareth Domnall Minister said he wanted it dark blue and dark green. You Who said that? You Wait Tomás MacDurcáin do i have to say it? You Sorry.

Press here to type message...

Suddenly, the Minister remembered, "Ah! Yes! Of course. I asked Domnall- No. I agreed with Domnall. The colors would bring a false sense of certainty to our online visitors who are having issues finding a question to ask. Is it blue or green? Is it green or blue? Is something in between? Light or medium? Yes! Yes! Of course! But...It really doesn't make any sense now that I think about it. Does it work that way?"

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Tomás MacDurcáin ● ONLINE You Tomas, it's me Enrigh. Tomás MacDurcáin glad u told me Tomás MacDurcáin wat do u want? You I want a new logo. Tomás MacDurcáin isnt the new logo what you want? You what? You *What? Tomás MacDurcáin Gareth Domnall Minister said he wanted it dark blue and dark green. You Who said that? You Wait Tomás MacDurcáin do i have to say it? You Sorry. Tomás MacDurcáin R we done?

Just change it.

[Pargesia]

|| Yet, Trouble at MOI ||
Where the Ministry of Information has trouble, down at the Old Gwyn Palace.

City of New Kenlis
Old Ministry Pavilion, Gwyn Palace
Private office of the Minister of Information

The Right Honorable Éamann Enrigh, TD, PC. With the general elections coming far but still soon, he could not believe how far he has gone as Minister. He even became 2nd Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs. His world revolved around government websites, hearing stories about a weird caller from New Strade, his daughter getting a boyfriend, his lit profile pic on B-Board, and dozens of new logo designs for the ministries. He did not even know that Her Royal Majesty High Queen Tara of Ossoria is also "Her Imperial Majesty Empress Tara of Pargesia". Fascinating! Stuff he learned with a portfolio inside the Foreign Ministry.

And his touchscreen phone vibrated, revealing it to his sights to push a button that turned on its screen. Then he revealed a new message he got on an online chat with a swipe of finger:

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Tomás MacDurcáin ● ONLINE Tomás MacDurcáin here are the logos Tomás MacDurcáin Tomás MacDurcáin Tomás MacDurcáin

Press here to type message...

The Minister frowned at the low quality images presented. But no problem! He knew well enough about social media networks, or at least B-Board, that he can zoom in with a press of a finger. Just like what he did earlier when he swiped B-Board open after turning the phone on.

Just as he was about to type a message, he received another from Tomás MacDurcáin, Deputy Permanent Secretary for MOI Digital Services. Message reads:

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Tomás MacDurcáin ● ONLINE Tomás MacDurcáin here are the logos Tomás MacDurcáin Tomás MacDurcáin Tomás MacDurcáin Tomás MacDurcáin in case you get indecisive Tomás MacDurcáin

Press here to type message...

'Indecisive'? The Minister did not like that word. In fact, he understood what is going on with this Deputy Permanent Secretary. After all this time. He could not believe the subtle insults. Why does Tomás see him as a nuisance? Is it his sudden rise to power that made the Permanent Secretary feel secretly jealous? Is it his sympathies for Abby Duncan strengthened by his belief that the Minister is behind a conspiracy that led to her downfall, including its literal meaning? Whatever it is, the Minister replied:

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Tomás MacDurcáin ● ONLINE Tomás MacDurcáin here are the logos Tomás MacDurcáin Tomás MacDurcáin Tomás MacDurcáin Tomás MacDurcáin in case you get indecisive Tomás MacDurcáin You I want the third one. And btw, fuck u. Make the changes pronto.

Press here to type message...

That will shake Tomás. The Minister has scolded his daughter for saying and sending that on social media but now it will serve a purpose. About time he drew the line. The Minister, with gleeful pride, mutterred, "Who's indecisive now, fucking civil servant piece of shit."

With that, the Minister opened his mobile browser and searched his ministry's official website:

This site uses cookies for easy use. Click here to learn more about cookies Home | About Pargesia | The Ministry Press Releases Employment Oppurtunities Government Gazette Tenders and Contracts Road Closures Results Request quotations Scholarships Planning Authority Notices A to Z List of Websites Services Catalogue eForms Education and Learning Health Services Law Enforcement Pregnancy and Birth Getting a Passport Getting a Driving License Looking for a Job Renting and Purchasing Property Youth Parents Jobseekers Media and Press Welcome I am the Minister of Information. Welcome to our ministry's official website. - Éamann Enrigh What we do? The Ministry of Information has wide-ranging tasks and does its best to serve the public. We provide services to keep you up-to-date with government policies by providing information, services and activities. This includes matters of public interest. Other tasks include making videos or infographics for government publicity, national pride, and public awareness. It is our specialty to formulate policies and administer law on industries of advertising, audiovisual, anime, content, information, film, gaming, radio, online service, software, and video games to ensure competence and proper conduct. We are also responsible for MOI Digital Services who create and design websites for The Ministry and His Majesty's Government. People at Channel 4, the official state channel, also work for us. They help us fulfill these tasks and responsibilities. These are just a few of us 5,000 men and women working to serve the public, to serve you. What we don't do? A lot of people have misconceptions of what The Ministry does and so we would like to give examples of what misconception and then explain why it is not true. 1. The Ministry is biased and may impose unfair regulatory practices on media enterprises they don't like. This is false. While the Ministry is led by somebody, like me, who is a partisan representative elected by the people and his party is sponsored by a variety of enterprises, one of which might be in the media industry, the Minister of Information's job is to do nothing but serve the Nation and not his or any party's interests. 2. The Ministry is planning to create guidelines for internet use and will monitor and censor internet content in Pargesia. This is false. The New Millenium Act prohibits review and collection of data without prior permission or, according to the Revised Criminal Rights and Procedures Act of 2001, a search warrant. However, a warrant cannot be issued by The Ministry. Only a judge can do so. 3. Media enterprises are not regulated by the Ministry of Economy. This is false and may be confusing. My Ministry only regulates their existence as a media enterprise and not as an enterprise. It is the Economy Ministry's job to formulate policy and administer law on enterprises in general. 4. The Ministry did not properly fine Memories Co. for illegally collecting GPS data of Emry Smartphones. This is false. It has been properly resolved in Pargesia vs. Memories Co. in 2016. 5. The Ministry is not condemning Dr. Ernest Parks who murdered his own wife. It is not the Ministry's job to condemn Dr. Parks. This includes his crimes, and any other crime committed by any other Pargesian (Unless related to media regulation but we can only provide cooperation). The Pargesian judiciary will be the proper government authority who will justly condemn and punish him, like any other criminal. 6. Btw, fuck u Yup, I said it. The Right Honorable Éamann Enrigh, TD, PC. Note: Fixed a type too. Help | Cookies | Contact | Terms and conditions | Built by MOI Digital Services MOI Archives MOI Forms MOI B-Board MOI Memories MOI Cloudverse © Crown copyright

[Pargesia]

|| Embassies and Niceties ||
The Foreign Minister and his things, home and overseas.

City of New Kenlis
Old Ministry Pavilion, Gwyn Palace
Private office of the Minister of Foreign Affairs

This site uses cookies for easy use. Click here to learn more about cookies Home | About Pargesia | The Ministry TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT Welcome This is the Minister of Foreign Affairs speaking. - Máirtín Conrad What we do? TEXT What we don't do? We got too many misconceptions about MOFA but let me help you answer and clear up several but very important misconceptions about us. 1. TEXT This is false. TEXT 2. TEXT This is false. TEXT 3. TEXT This is false TEXT 4. TEXT This is false. TEXT 5. TEXT This is false. TEXT Help | Cookies | Contact | Terms and conditions | Built by MOI Digital Services MOI Archives MOI Forms MOFA B-Board MOFA Memories MOFA Cloudverse © Crown copyright

"'Éamann Enrigh'. I feel that a cock-up is imminent. Preferably up his saggy bottom." Softly spoke The Right Honorable Máirtín Conrad, TD, PC. To whom? Well, to somebody in his touchscreen phone in loudspeaker as he inspected his ministry's new website page on another touchscreen device but bigger, mostly wide and lesser thickness. A tablet computer. The website is still under construction though but he counts on his MOI Digital Services team to finish it as soon it as possible.

The Caller said, "It is very imminent. He's too stupid. He even keeps referring to our government website as 'his ministry's website'. Doesn't he know that all ministries are sharing the same website?" And the Minister snorted, took a deep breath, and sighed. Was there anything more about the Minister of Information, the 2nd Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs, besides ignorance and slip-ups. Like what happened on his page. What a scandal. They claim the website was hacked, particularly Tomás MacDurcáin, Deputy Permanent Secretary for MOI Digital Services, who defended the Minister.

Well, speaking of slip-ups. The Minister asked, "Have you seen Abby Duncan lately?" which The Caller did not answer. The Minister wondered what is taking him so long but he did not need to do so after nearly a moment later, "Nope." That was a useless wait. The Minister stopped inspecting to use his fingers to massage his aching forehead. So much work to be done later. His Pargesian Majesty's Ambassador to Gylias wants to have a phone call. It will be something about the Pargesian Jewish community there and then Tennai. What could it be is something he prefers to know over revelations about the Ministry of Information and its incompetence ever since the Information Minister joined the Executive Committee of the Privy Council of Pargesia, otherwise known as the Cabinet of Pargesia for easy reference. For the Foreign Minister's convenience.

Before he unintentionally and mentally stalled their conversation to an end, the Minister recovered and returned to his senses. He said, "Hmm. Alright. By the way, is my Private Secretary still with you?" The Caller burped out, "Yeaaawgh!" To which the Minister's nose twitched thrice and thrice again. And then he asked, "Are you drinking sodium bicarbonate or is it The Bending Joint?" The Caller just moaned, "Mhm!" Whatever. The Minister lost interested and continued what he was supposed to say. An instruction and it goes, "Tell him to call the Permanent Secretaries, except you. We need you to work on the website page."

The Caller moaned another, "Mhm!" And the Minister twitched his nose again. What the hell is he doing? Probably got food in his mouth. If that is the case then it is no surprise. The Bending Joint, without careful consideration of your choice of diet there, will make you gassy. The Minister is confident that The Bending Joint never ceases to appetize him. Sad that they banned him for his threats and demands. He could not avoid it since he is the Chairperson of the Ossoria Pargesia Association. And it was worth it. His actions seemed to be a vote winner. Perfect timing for the general elections is on its way on board the HPMS Royal Prerogative.

The Minister smiled at the thought of another easy and strengthened victory. People might say that might be overdoing it but he wants his numbers tipping to the point that the scale could no longer support itself. Satisfied with this thought, he blurted out, "Embassies and Niceties."

Suddenly, "Tomás MacDurcáin here." Good! The Minister giggled, "Hehehahe!" and said, "Good work, DPM, good work!"

"Thanks Minister. Hope it helps." Tomás MacDurcáin, Deputy Permanent Secretary for MOI Digital Services and the Minister's posterboy for the Ossoria Pargesia Association. His looks are just as good as his skills in information technology which is certified by flying academic colors.

The Minister, with a quick intake of breath, said, "Time will tell, DPM. Time will tell. With your little act yesterday, I can use it against him and maybe get rid of him from my ministry. The latter being very easy now and a fitting farewell from his short-lived rise in Gwyn Palace."

"Yeah. Might as well move him down in the old dungeon below the palace." With that in mind, the Minister and DPM shared a laughed and laughed again.

[Pargesia]

|| Pargesian Mansuris ||
A new factbook is being drafted by a very sleepy plain secretary.

City of New Kenlis
Old Ministry Pavilion, Gwyn Palace
MOI - Room 502

Tyler Azam-Green is a plain secretary. He is fulfilling his plain secretarial duties this late at night. The moon crawling ever so slightly higher as the next day comes. He felt so sleepy but he must not falter. A job is a job after all. It has been good working for both The National Shoutyman and the Ministry of Information.

'A.J. Uno' by day. Tyler by moonlight and pretty much everything else.

Now, he is replenishing himself with temporary energy. Drinking coffee is not enough but it will have to do. Caffeine is caffeine. Though, now he wonders where do people get coffee patches. Wait, no. Caffeine patches. Does it even work? It sounds ridiculous. If fake, it is just as sad as putting a sticker on your back that said 'Chick Magnet'.

But fuck that shit. There is a lot to be done in his personal computer, using a word processor called Type. Some search engine owns it. It comes in an office suite with productivity applications. What was it again? No matter since Tyler does not give a fuck or shit about what it is. Right now, this is the fucking shit:

-- + x Document1 - Type [ File ] [ Home ] [ Insert ] [ Design ] [ Layout ] [ Reference ] [ Mailings ] [ Review ] [ View ] Pargesian Mansuris are mostly Arab or Persian. Mostly represented by the Pargesian Mansuri Society. 1. Tradition and Customs Pargesian Mansuris have the following: Respect for older people, Tend to uniquely show a high degree of politeness, Standing up when one enters a room, giving preference in queues, etc. They greet, wave, eat, offer and receive things with their right hand. Then they clean or remove dirty stuff with their left. 2. Music, Arts, and Literature You can expect many different art traditions coexisting side by side; As well as a mix between them. Just like in Mansuriyah. You can expect mainstream culture to derive from both. Arabs and their "Dabke." Persians with their own (?). (Dance ?) Religious music (or "Nasheed") is prevalent throughout; It is played just with vocals or percussion instruments. Mansuris have a long literary tradition that can be seen in Pargesian Mansuris, Especially regarding poetry. Calligraphy has a high status as a societal art for Pargesian Mansuris; "Ebru" painting is also popular and very appreciated. Paintings that depict living animals or humans is particular for most Persians; Pargesian Mansuri also brought their tradition of painting miniatures. 3. Religion islam Ask Hatem for regional religions and beliefs 4. Holidays Varies across localities and provinces major holidays are religious ones; Eid al-Adha and Eid al-fitr are the two major holidays; Other holidays are Laylatul Mihraj, Day of Ashura, and the prophet's birthday (Mawlid). (When exactly ?) 5. Sports mansuri pargesians enjoy sports like football and basketball. Besides that, wrestling and archery are popular and considered societal sports (it has a religious undertone as the prophet recommended its practice). LOL Prophet recommended shooting some threes and kicking goals Ask Hatem for clarification Persians are very much into polo, which they claim was invented by them in Mansurriyah. They call it Chogan 6. FAmily Mansuri Pargesians are universally patriarchal. It's common for families to keep close ties and, frequently, generations share the same house and/or town Polygamy isn't very common even though its legal 7. Food Mansuri's have a keen sweet tooth. Baklava, kunafa, basbousa, sholezard, helva There are many regional varieties of rice based dishes (polaf) and kebabs. Traditional entries (mezzeh) are very popular, like chickpea cream (humus), laabne at Keki's Kebab Fuck im hungry will go to therew later Reference Hatem Torin Cian Al-Aman Note Ask Ailis to drive Hatem and Muna to school. Note2 Buy Royal Pargesian flight ticket to New Strade if Namo 10's still closed. Tyler's Edit. [ Sign In ] [ Share ] 2 Pages | 412 Words | English (Ossorian)

And fuck. This. Shit.

He needs good-shit food and a good fucking drink.

He could feel his head spinning for the first time tonight. Filled with anger and possibly air. Now, there is enough reason for Tyler to go out for a break and eat at Keki's Kebab.

Everybody else who did overtime are sleeping and he is not going to slave away for a factbook that's coming soon. Precisely is two weeks.

Actually, he might even consider sleeping at Keki's Kebab. He might be lucky enough to stay at the booth and get unnoticed by Keki. She is a forgetful old bitch. Once, she left her backdoor open and what did she get? A bunch of rats. What a barbarian. Hopefully, she learned her lesson. Pretty sure she had after her great uncle Fiacrah took out his shot gun and meat cleaver to defeat the rats. What a bloody day to die a rodent, it was. Keki might have fainted. But Tyler is not sure. If she did, Tyler would spend a day of prayer just for Prophet Muhammad. She is too much of a man to exist a human.

With a wallet and his trusty pepper spray, he opened the doors out the room and tried to skid away. He did slip in the process but all is well in the end.

[Gylias]

►

(0:00)

(Chiyo and Kei switch places.)

Kei: <Sanctuary of water and ice! The first of the sanctuaries we collect the four masks from.>

Chiyo: <Certainly explains the robo-pirate displayed to represent it.>

(0:06)

Kei: <Cutscene I'm not going to talk over!>

Chiyo: <But you realise you just did—>

Kei hushes Chiyo.

Kei: (whispering) <Hush, darling sister, the cutscene is going.>

Chiyo makes a faint acquiescence noise.

(0:26)

Kei: <I appreciate a—>

Chiyo hushes Kei.

Chiyo: (whispering, grinning broadly) <Hush, darling sister, cutscene in progress.>

(Both sisters laugh at the organisation of the Teensies.)

Kei: <This your only way of traveling to new worlds? Couldn't you cram a> shinkansen <in there?>

Chiyo: <What better way to get lots of energy than by> shinkansen?

Kei: <Maybe they expect some thorium-powered plane or something?>

Chiyo: <That sounds like a horror game right there.>

Kei: (nodding) <Indeed, and I ain't giving those fuckers any ideas,> fufu~

Chiyo: <If you collect enough lums, you get to meet Kirigiri.>

Kei: <If you die, you just meet Kurobaneko.>

(1:05)

Kei: <I think Rayman's just asking themself where those bloody tall pillars end.>

Chiyo: <So am I! They can't just disappear into the air like that.>

Kei: <I'm treating this as a black void until further notice.>

Chiyo: <If it was any more black it'd be a Spinal Tap cover.>

(1:13)

Kei: (chuckling) <Rayman's dodged floating helicopter bombs, water-ski'd through a swamp driven by a snake, and found out they had to collect 4 masks to wake up some narcoleptic world spirit. I suppose it's still early on that they'd pause at the idea of walking through a corridor to nowhere.>

(1:23)

(Kei looks around in game.)

Kei: <See, sis, I can show off the game too if I want!>

Chiyo: Fufu, <big if...>

Kei: <If it wasn't for the clouds and the piranha infestation, it'd be a lovely swim~>

Chiyo: <The cage kinda ruins the mood too...>

(1:35)

Kei: <Yep, that is one... horizon.> (chuckles)

Chiyo: <You want someone to bring it to you?>

Kei: <I'm not a shitty metal band!>

Chiyo: <Touché.>

(1:42)

Kei: (trying not to crack up) <Fuck it, I'm going to show off the horizon again!>

Both laugh.

Kei: <Alright, got that out of my system. Robo-pirate coming up in 3... 2... 1...>

Kei: <Literally coming up, as you can see from that drill.>

Chiyo: <Jokes only the English speakers will get...>

Kei: <I like how the game thinks that, in a battle with a robo-pirate, my first priority is going to be to shoot at that crab.>

Chiyo: <I think it's more that you weren't aiming for the robo-pirate...>

Kei: (waves hand) <Details, details~>

Rayman's fist hits the robo-pirate.

Kei: <We got some ass to kick here♥>

(2:05)

Kei: <Actually, hey, if you could stay over there where you can't even shoot past the cliff, that'd be awesome? No? No? ... They never listen, sis.>

Chiyo: (nods) <They never listen.>

(2:30)

Kei: <Wish that crab would get out of the way!> (laughs)

(2:43)

Chiyo makes the sound of clapping her hands together.

Kei: <Phew, that was good practice. Don't know how I managed to climb into that laserblast, but it's done.>

Kei: (quietly) <Thanks for doing the hand-washing noise for me, sis.>

Chiyo: (giggling) <Anytime~>

Kei: (quietly) <Woulda done it myself, but you know, Rayman won't play themself.>

(3:15)

Kei: <Well, last of the cages in this level. Let's get back to that sanctuary, eh?>

Chiyo: <Sounds good~>

(3:19)

Kei laughs.

Kei: <Definitely looked like a ledge to me!>

(3:58)

Chiyo: <Entrance to the sanctuary, 12 o'clock.>

Kei: <Give me a moment with the camera and it'll be 9 o'clock.>

Chiyo laughs.

Kei: <Ah, another robo-pirate. Easy-peasy~>

Chiyo: <It's the crab that poses a bigger challenge, I see.>

Kei: <Again, proving my point about how I don't even need to worry 'bout these robo-pirates,> fufu. <I could probably do this with my eyes closed, y'know? Just keep 'ctrl' pressed, go left 'n right in a cycle, and keep hitting space.>

Chiyo: <With a robo-pirate like that, sure. Not so much with one who moved, though...>

Kei: <Yeah, that's a given.>

(4:40)

Kei: <This is the part where we had to cut out a lot of our humming along because this track's just so good.>

Chiyo: <Mhm!~>

(5:04)

Kei: <Track totally could've been on Cowboy Bebop: The Music. One of those discs had a combo of Mideastern percussion and slide guitar, yeah.>

Chiyo: <And then we check the soundtrack folder and find out this track is actually labeled 'Not Ed's Theme'.> (giggles)

Kei: <Who's Ed?>

Chiyp: Aaa... (chuckles) <nevermind.>

(Kei shrugs)

Kei: <Sure. The one thing I kinda dislike about these puzzle orbs is that they slow you down while walking. Then again, you are carrying something... like I'm carrying this barrel right now to blast open the other door.>

(5:42)

Kei: <Like, right now I'm just playing with keeping the up arrow down and seeing if I can steer Rayman with just the Q and W buttons that move the camera.>

(5:48)

Chiyo: <Free... dumping?>

Kei: <No wonder nobody solved the door, numbskulls! If you're serious about this shit, you offer free beer, right?>

Chiyo: <Yes, or> bentō.

Kei: <Or> yakitori... (quietly, to Chiyo) <Now I'm hungry.>

(6:39)

Chiyo: <Wow, sis, you just jumped from like 29 to 40 lums there.>

Kei: <Sudden generosity with the lums can only mean one thing, dear sister.> (raises index finger of free hand dramatically) <We are nearing the end of the level!>

Chiyo: <Yes, yes, that we are...>

Kei: <Rayman's just going to walk into... nothing here.>

Chiyo: <Watch out for Lavos!>

Kei: (laughing) <This ain't Microworld, sis! It's Dreamwave!>

(6:56)

Kei: <Yeah, slopes like these are a motherfucker because you can't helicopter. You just have to time the jumps right. And decelerating too hard will fuck with your steering as well. It's to be expected, really.>

(7:11)

Kei: <Not even half a minute in and an edit was necessary because I died,> fufu. <I actually have no idea how I managed to get that yellow lum, I would've thought I was too far to reach it...>

(7:34)

Kei: (giggling) <Well, this isn't ominous at all.>

Chiyo and Kei: <Axel!>

Kei: <It's kind of a dumb name for a guardian, no? It makes him sound like some lovable Swedish lump in some comedy film.>

Chiyo: <Whatever that horror game was with an enemy named 'Pyramid Head', they clearly played this before making it.>

(7:51)

Kei: <Oi, watch it, shitbrain! You nearly hit our camera!>

(Rayman shoots the stalactite on Axel's head. Kei laughs.)

Kei: <I love how much of a pushover the first guardian is. It's nice of the game to ease you into the whole mask thing gradually.>

(8:06)

Kei: <And, yep, we're in space... somehow. Things just sort of float here.>

Chiyo: <This must be what a Microworld boss stage would look like if it was first-person...>

Kei: <Yep. Luna and Alex and the gang could've been here for all we know.>

(Chiyo starts trying to sing "Wings". It comes out as mostly nonsense syllables to the right melody.)

Kei: <Sis, you don't actually know the lyrics, do you.>

Chiyo: Fufu, <not if I'm not reading a lyrics site, no. Or if I have the CD in front of me.>

(8:40)

Kei: <Yep, that is an ethereal waterfall coming out of space and spilling... back into space.>

Chiyo: <Rayman is weird.>

(8:53)

Kei: <They knew to cutscene this because a player like me would probably just burst through it in a rush.>

(9:09)

Kei: <See Rayman, it's a good thing the symbol thing on your chest is a circle, and the rock thing is also a circle! If either was a triangle or something, it wouldn't work!>

(9:25)

Kei: <Well, viewers, you can't say I didn't tell you the masks are fuck-ugly.>

Chiyo: <Even Rayman is like, what is this shit.>

Kei: (pretending to voice act) <I fought through a stalactite pyramid monster for this? Couldn't they have hired Miyuki Morimoto to design it, at least?>

(9:46)

Kei: <And here we meet Polokus!>

Kei: <They's... a greenish dwarf thing in a multicoloured top hat who talks like someone who heard one of those 'world music' CDs of chants.>

Chiyo: <The voice probably does show where most of the Arkoennite influence went, apart from the whole dream-world thing.>

Kei: <I'm more worried about Polokus' hands, honestly. They look impractically long.>

Chiyo: <Seems that makes them good for reaching down to attach masks to a pedestal.>

Kei: <When someone takes the word "living statue" too literally.>

(10:45)

Kei: <You know sis, I'm still half-convinced Polokus wasn't so much "voice-acted" as "recorded on location at the> Hachijō <festival". They probably caught the> taiko <there as well and just overdubbed some flute on it.>

(10:52)

Kei: (joking, rapid tone) <And that mask is still fuckin' ugly!>

(11:00)

(Kei and Chiyo switch places during the Hall of Doors.)

Chiyo: <This level is another of those that doesn't get completed in the first go, and you have to backtrack. Unlike the Fairy Glade, you can't actually move beyond it until it's done. Don't worry, it'll make sense as we go along.>

(11:35)

Kei: <Sis, are you trying to play chicken with a walking shell?>

Chiyo: (shrugs) <'unno... maybe?>

Kei: <Huh. I must've imprinted some of my muscle memory on the keyboard.

Chiyo: Fufu, <that's one way of putting it.>

(11:40)

Chiyo: <So, the secret to taming a shell... is just to run until it exhausts itself. And then you can ride it! Whereupon it proceeds to neigh like a horse.>

(11:49)

Chiyo: <Oh, shit, I actually forgot to break a cage! Yeah, this switch, I should've thrown it before getting on the shell. And now we go down here...>

(12:04)

Chiyo: <There it is. And done, woo. Now back onto the horse-rocket.>

Kei: <I'm surprised nobody's named a band Horse Rocket yet.>

Chiyo: <Then we're going to check Proton after this goes up and find out someone did.>

(12:21)

Chiyo: <This time I'm going to try running around in circles instead.>

(Kei quietly sings a lyric from The Watts' "Circles".)

Chiyo: (laughs) <Yeah, that never gets old.>

(12:38)

Kei: (pretending to voice act) <Yeah, that was actually pretty simple Murfy. Can't believe no one managed to figure it out before me.>

Chiyo: <Then again, did anyone even get to the Menhir Hills before now?>

Kei: <Obelix, probably.>

Chiyo: (pretending to voice act) <These robo-pirates are crazy!>

(Both laugh.)

(12:58)

Chiyo: <That total concentration looks awfully lot like sleeping.>

(13:22)

Kei: <You have to wonder how the robo-pirates managed to take over the world when they've not even mastered going from point A to point B...>

Chiyo: <Pretty sure the manual says it was immobilising Rayman and breaking the heart of the world.>

Kei: <Indeed, you just free someone even slightly capable and they fold like ninnies. We're like a third through the game already, no? It's one of those things where you realise, how the fuck did it take so long to start doing this?>

Chiyo: <But enough about the Liberation War...>

(Both chuckle.)

(14:02)

Kei: <Sis, you think they borrowed those trampoline-mushrooms from Jazz Jackrabbit 2?>

Chiyo: Eto... (looks at screen) <Could be. I could definitely see them in... I always forget the name of that level where you have that funky groove track.>

Kei: <... yeah, me too.>

(14:10)

Chiyo: Fufu, <you see that? Game couldn't tell if I landed there for a sec.>

Kei: (giggles) <Yeah, that is pretty funny.>

(14:24)

Chiyo: <Seems it's not a good idea to go into first person so close to a ledge.>

Kei: <Yeah, the impact of the camera going into Rayman can knock them forward...>

(14:29)

Chiyo: <Okay, extra lum there, I think I got how to do this.>

(14:50)

Kei: <You know if I was playing this I'd just keep space pressed all the time~>

Chiyo: <And you know you would die a lot more than I did~>

(15:02)

Chiyo: <We're gonna have a lot more of those ugly claw shits later on in the game.>

(15:11)

Kei: <See, you did take my advice and start spacebaring!>

Chiyo: <It is a lot of backtracking,> fufu~

(15:22)

Chiyo: <Now, this is the first level where you end up learning a new skill. Or, if you go past this part or don't figure it out, you don't.>

Kei: <And then you wonder why you didn't get all the lums and cages.>

Chiyo: <So we take a barrel...>

(15:29)

Chiyo: <And if there's a torch on the wall like this, you can—>

(Both laugh uproariously.)

Kei: (in between laughs) <—accidentally blow yourself in the face against the wall!>

(Laughter dies down.)

Chiyo: <Well, you get the point.>

(15:48)

Chiyo: <You can fly a barrel!>

(16:14)

Kei: <You really have trouble not getting exploded by these barrels, sis.>

Chiyo: <Yeah, but it's barely a scratch on the life bar anyways.>

(16:24)

Chiyo: <What I'm doing here is, that pirate's health bar is actually small enough to get taken out by one exploding barrel. So if I can sneak up while they're sleeping, even better~>

(16:47)

Chiyo: <Huh? Usually I managed to not wake 'em up. I think I forgot just how far Rayman throws barrels and wanted to be sure.>

(17:01)

Chiyo: <This is the only cutscene in the game that's in fullscreen, by the way. I have no idea why. All the others are letterboxed.>

(17:22)

Kei: <Clark fell in the magic potion as a kid, clearly.>

Chiyo: <I... wouldn't try to arm-wrestle with Clark, Rayman.>

Kei: <Well, you also don't have arms, but that's beside the point.>

(17:38)

Chiyo: <And here we have the backtracking,> fufu. <You remember way back like, five levels ago when I said we'd get back to that ledge. Yeah, Clark's just telling us the life potion is hidden in that ledge back in the Woods of Light.>

Kei: <That is one massive backtrack...>

Chiyo: <Yeah, originally it was going to be hidden in the Cave of Bad Dreams, but when Saira and Anise axed that level, they had to come up with a replacement. So they ended up using an idea of Michel's that hadn't been implemented, because it wasn't going anywhere story-wise, and put that ledge in the Woods of Light for the access, and that became the new life potion hiding spot.>

Kei: <I like to think of it as 'this is the kind of material you should be working on, numbnuts' from Saira and Anise that they put it in the Woods of Light. The name is just perfect for reminding someone why their level got the axe because it was shitty nightmare fuel.>

(18:06)

Chiyo: <Yeah, and the level just stops at this point to throw you back in the Hall of Doors.>

Kei: <Well, off to the Woods of Light we go!>

[Pargesia]

|| Oh Shit, it's Monday ||
It's just another Monday for a particular resident in 205A 41st Street, New Strade.

City of New Strade
205A 41st Street

No day is bad for Kellan Wade Rutledge, the cutest nerd of Ossorian-Shalumite Friendship School.

He has always doubted the unthinkable, especially the magical truth that spoke of nonsense.

It lays out that every person has his or her bad day.

It is nothing but pure Pargesian bullshit. And it is an urban legend that Pargesians made, particularly an Ossorian city boy who plays pirate and his friend, a talking Shalumite dog. And they loved the creative innovation very much that they believed it and it became fact in its own right.

There was no doubt in his mind about this. That was until he saw the date in his phone.

It wasn't exactly the day of the month or the time, but the weekday.

"Oh shit, it's Monday."

He takes it all back. Monday is his bad day.

He jumped off his bed and rushed to take a bath. He needs more time to prepare for this wretched day that he knew will bring much misfortunate and danger to his poor delicate being and soul, if there is even such a thing as soul.

More time than any regular day. Time for the morning, the bus trip to school, the classes, recess, the classes, lunch, dismissal, and dinnertime.

He reminded himself that everything will be fine once he gets in his bed tonight. Only then.

Only then he could kiss Monday goodbye and make love to good his old pal Tuesday. And that's fine, he's gay anyway. Unless Tuesday's a fat old trucker from New Kenlis. Hell no!

So that means no jerking off this morning either.

"Fuck. I have a boner." And it's nice and stiff.

He thought that the New Kenlis truckers would turn him off but a bunch of muscular hairy men appeared in his mind. Where did they come from?!

"Curse you, Monday!"

Kellan had a hard time applying body soap, feeling the leathery sensation every time his soapy loofa made contact with his body. Better though than hands since scratchy is better than silky with his hands in this situation.

He usually uses hands since loofa is apparently host to a lot of germs, according to a study he read online. Of course it has been verified, he checked it with a question in Epiphany and double checked with a question on AskaBloga. Two troves of wisdom treasure.

Using his hands on his body...He knew very well that in all things, one thing led to another.

But forget about that! This is all for his sake. Better that he can't masturbate than suffering the consequences of shooting with slight difficulty, that will become huge when burning pain emerges and intensifies in his urethra.

He knew very well what happened the last Monday he masturbated. The feelings he experienced was intense, concentrated deep within his balls.

AAAAAAAAAUUUUUGGGGH! My penis! Why?! WHY?! But why he said 'penis' instead of 'balls', confuses him. He promised himself to research later online.

Ah, but he could still remember how it all happened. He cried and he was naked. He rushed to the kitchen to get relief from the fridge. A bag full of ice, it was.

AAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGHH! PENIS-PEEENIS-PEEEENNIISS!

Which made it worse.

Mom, Kellan is naked! He's singing about his penis!

KELLAN! WHY ARE YOU NAKED IN MY KITCHEN?!

A whole lot worse.

Shaking his head to forget about the memory, he dried himself and spared no time to throw the towel in the hamper along with his clothes. But instead of the hamper, his mind forgot to include his towel and instead placed it on the top. Careless to realize that this top is the lid of the water container of his toilet. Too careless to put the toilet lid down.

As soon as he slammed his door shut in his hurry, the towel slipped to its disgusting doom.

PLOP

Inside the toilet.

Kellan checked the time in his phone.

5:30

Monday's just begun and he's already feeling something has gone wrong.

CRASH

Kellan's nose twitched as he heard something break outside his window.

He ran to his window and saw a gaping hole in the glass. He panicked and opened it up to see who did it. But he couldn't see anything.

His heart raced. Pumping and pumping, feeling it beat in his ears.

Where is the projectile?

Who would even do such a thing to him?

"What happened?" He mumbled, trying to make sense of it all.

Then an acorn hits him in the face.

"What the-"

And he heard the culprit, squeaking loud on the branch where it sat.

"Fucking squirrel."

Kellan threw the acorn back at the squirrel but he missed.

"Fucking-"

It was too late when he heard the cute battle cry of the squirrel as it leaped in the air to attack him.

He looked up at it with fists covering his face, just in time to respond and cry out, "AAAAAHHHH!"

And the squirrel got on his naked body, crawling all over. He struggled to get it off and reached far ends in the effort. And he did more than that.

He shook his body, wiggled his legs, rolled his hips, and threw his arms in the air like he just don't care. But of course he did care, he felt the little critter get inside his fluffy long hair.

At the height of his distress, he screamed, "GET OFF ME!"

"Mom! Kellan's naked and dancing in front of an open window!" It's his little sister Annie, youngest of the siblings who were most likely too busy to take notice of his shouts. If they weren't, it wouldn't be just Annie here by his bedroom door right now.

"HELP ME ANNIE!" Kellan screamed, almost in exaltation. Not completely knowing Annie.

What could be his savior is also his annoying little sister.

Annie looked at him with a smile, looking like she wants to laugh but couldn't. Maybe she enjoys it quiet when she witnesses the suffering of other people, especially poor Kellan. Is this even his sister? His own flesh and blood? How could she just stand there and look at him with amusement.

"HELP ME!" He plead to his sister as he felt the squirrel stop somewhere on his pelvis, bucking when he felt it sniff and nose touch his hairy balls. He couldn't help but freeze for a moment until he felt its sharp claws meet his sensitive scrotum.

"HELP-HELP-ME-HELP-ME!" He began to thrust hips in attempt to throw the squirrel off but it grabbed hold of his precious orbs, thankfully not using its paws and by the flexible flesh that connected it to his body.

"MOM! HE'S STILL DANCING!" Annie shouted in glee. Giggling at her older brother moving around like an angry gyrating monkey.

"KELLAN! STOP DANCING IN FRONT OF YOUR WINDOW AND YOUR OWN SISTER NAKED! THE NEIGHBORS WILL SEE!" Kellan panicked, not just because of the screech his Mom made at the top of her lungs, but he worries about the audience he may have gathered outside his open window.

As soon as he felt the squirrel jumped off his body after hanging on his nutsack, he looked out his window and frantically searched with his eyes, scrutinizing the street and the apartments across.

He saw...Nobody. Not a single person in sight, except for a yellow school bus that just passed by.

Good! Kellan sighed in relief. But he will not let his guard down now, not now or ever until the end of this day. Granted there is this brief moment of peace, but Monday is on the prowl, waiting to strike again.

He looked at his sister who pouted, most likely disappointed. Kellan just smiled at her and stuck his tongue out to proclaim his victory over this battle with Monday. Actually, there'll be more ahead so he'll soak this victory up as much as he wants.

Annie turned as she left but as she did, she smirked and showed it off to Kellan with half a face. Kellan looked at her with suspicion and was about to ask what his dear 13-year-old sibling was doing until she closed the door shut.

Suspicious.

Really suspicious now, she usually slams the door.

Probably another victory.

Or a prelude to another battle!

With clenched fists, Kellan ran to his closet and pulled out his battle uniform. Otherwise known as 'His Clothes for Monday': Blue jeans, brown belt, white button up shirt, black cardigan, a pair of white socks, brown shoes, a red ribbon tie, and a plastic container guarding his glasses, of course he is not going to wear the container but his glass- Wait, the container. It does not contain his glasses! Where is it?!

Kellan ran to his bed and dug under the sheets, then under the pillows, and, lastly, the mattresses. Yet, nothing.

No!

Oh, no problem!

He almost forgot. There's still the bathroom.

He smiled and laughed at himself for not checking the other room, but shock greeted his face. He discovered the fate of his last roll of towel. And it was just fresh out of the closet. He prepared it before his sleep for his baths today and the next four days until Wash Day.

"OH GOD!"

The horror. It is now drenched in yellow, the color of his piss.

What will he use now?

What will his Mom say?

Will his Dad spank him?

Wait, he forgot he's already too old for that.

But his older brother, Dariel, the eldest, might try. He likes that sort of thing.

Doesn't know why but he suddenly recall the last time Dariel slapped his ass. It kinda turn him on...BEGONE THOTS! Kellan thought, pressing his hands against his head, and imagined squeezing the dirty thought of his mind.

Does he have a fetish for Daddykink now? BDSM maybe?

Whatever it is, he ain't into it!

Kellan fell to his knees and looked up the ceiling. Not feeling, not caring. Eyes blinded by the lightbulb that he apparently left on. He was that careless.

He took a deep breath and he gave it his all, "CUUURRSE YOOOOOU MOOOOOONDDAAAAAAAAY!"

"MOM! KELLAN'S BEING OVERDRAMATIC!"

"WHAT'RE YOU STILL DOING HERE, ANNIE?!"

[Azurlavai]

Things were moving fast for the Syaran Commonality. In a few days it was expected to play host to a diplomatic summit in the intent of resolving the Arzell Crisis before it boiled out of control. At least the groundwork had been laid down for it, but it left a lot of working pieces still in need of being put into place. In the midst of all the planning and details, Executive Radovan Kostović had found very little time for sleep. Too many things were still in needing of resolution, too many opinions to give and too many matters of state security and administration to handle for one man. In some ways Kostović wished Syara was still a relatively isolated nation, reliant on it’s GDP and trade to remind other nations of it. Simpler times, when his biggest problems were negotiating between Syara’s main corporate entities.

Now he had his plate full of diplomatic summits and meetings. In just a few days he would host some of the region’s most prominent national leaders and representatives in the hopes of averting another catastrophic war. Things seemed to be getting stranger every day. It used to be hard to get any national leader to come to visit Syara. Now a throng were set to descend on the Commonality, wine and dine, and hopefully put some sense back into the world.

Kostović didn’t pretend to care about the details of the Shalumnite-Ossorian rivalry. He knew that bad blood between them ran deep, and traced back centuries of wars and conflicts. The Teutons and the Celts hated each other in a manner no other international rivalry could really compare to. Not even the Berserkers and the Teutons hated each other as much. This was all of course, just one facet of the problem. International politics had complicated an already divisive issue. The Shalumnites not only hated the Ossorians, they were on bad terms with the Azurans, and the Azurlavains. Even the Sulians didn’t like them. They were in essence an isolated, heavily militarized regime.

But if that wasn’t bad enough, the far eastern Soviet Republic had established itself an ally of the Shalumnites, throwing in their lot with the otherwise isolated Empire. Now any attempt to make war against the Holland dynasty was sure to be met with Acrean resolve. Not to be let out, the small state of Mubata had also seen fit to strike it with the Shalumnites. The Empire certainly had its fair share of odd allies, but war makes for strange bedfellows. And war had nearly come.

In many ways Kostović supposed Tyler Holland deserved some credit. He had at least admitted his side was in the wrong, at least in this instance. In doing so he may had just averted the destruction of his Empire, for now. That sentiment wasn’t lost on the Executive; it seemed like the Shalumnites were always in some sort, starting border wars with their neighbors, letting their slavers run loose, and siding with the damn Soviets. Maybe in the future, historians would look back at this epoch as the era of Teutonic aggression, one which surely end in either the destruction of the Empire or it’s ascension. The last possibility seemed remote, but if there was anything Kostović had realized over the past few weeks, it was that nothing was out of the ordinary.

Including a state visit to Azurlavai. It was brief one to be sure, arriving in the morning and leaving in the night. Things were too busy for both himself and his Azuralavain counterpart for anything longer. No matter how short though, it didn’t change the abrupt reality that this meeting would’ve been considered unimaginable just a few weeks ago. Ever since the Azurlavains had descended on Aerick with their imperialist ambitions the Commonality had prepared for war, a war that seemed inevitable. The partition was just one phase of the undeclared conflict, punctuated by the arrival of thousands of troops from the mainland to the Aerickite shores. He had planned to fight Supreme Chairman Monika Shefer over the island, to bleed and die, to sink ships and shoot down aircraft all over a small island who’s GDP was smaller than the budget of the SCAF.

Monika Shefer. When Kostović had first met her a year prior they had narrowly avoided war in exchange for letting the Syarans have half of Aerick. Kostović had been pleasantly surprised by her willingness to compromise. He had come into the meeting intending to make problems and force some kind of treaty under the threat of war, but the Azuralavian leader had been frustratingly agreeable, preferring deals and negotiations to bluster and bluffs. He had left with a newfound respect for Shefer, even while he planned to use her distraction with Shalum as a chance to defile the treaty he had signed with her.

Then a week ago they had met again. Something was fundamentally different about that meeting. It wasn’t just the casual attire or quiet setting. He had come into the town with an intrinsically different attitude than a year prior. Recent developments had certainly affected that. He had come into the encounter needing and wanting a deal. Maybe he had been negotiating from a position of weakness, well aware that war with both Azuralavai and her Azuran allies made the prospect of open conflict far less enticing.

Maybe it was her. Ever since their last meeting Shefer had crept into his mind at random times, tip toeing behind his shoulder while he sat at his desk, or standing near him when he cabinet meetings began droning on. Maybe it was her smile, or her face that stuck out in his dreams. That she looked the part of a university student and not a fascist leader. Whatever the reason he couldn’t stop her from claiming some part of his conscience as her own, reserving parts of his memory for things like her hair, her smile, or her laugh. Hearing her voice on the telephone two days prior had, for some reason, brightened his entire day. He didn’t understand fully why she seemed to provoke such an internal reaction, but she did.

“Executive 1 be advised; Berserker escort is on station and ready to complete the rest of the flight.” Jackal Leader, the leading Vrabac fighter that had served as the Executive’s protection while crossing the Sanguine Sea, announced to the pilots of Executive 1. Incoming escort is call sign “Drakon”. We’ll see you on the flipside. Jackal Flight, out.”

The Syaran fighters waited until their Azurlavain counterparts were well in position before banking and starting the return journey back to Syara. They were replaced by the sleek but large aircraft of the Luftstryke. Just a few weeks ago, these same Syaran pilots had learned the best way to defeat the JF13 was to close in and use IR to exploit the large size of the Azzie stealth planes. That all had changed because one man aboard the aircraft they had been escorting. Strange times indeed.

“Sir, we’re almost there.”

Executive 1 descended into Lowellsburg without incident, landing and taxing itself to the pre-selected terminal where the Supreme Chairman and her counterparts were waiting. Unlike in their previous arrangement the Executive was more formally dressed. Kostović had opted for his usually black suit and green tie that had become his standard. It was just the Excutive himself that had come to Azuralvai, aware that time constraints meant that the usual fluff of diplomatic meetings would have to be ignored for the sake of efficiency, which suited the Syarans just fine.

The Executive would’ve left his aircraft and made his way to where the Azurlavains were waiting to greet him.

---

Kostovic was greeted by none other than Major Tor Vahlen, Monika Schefer’s lindsman. While it was very odd for the bodyguard to be seperate from his charge, the importance of the meeting clearly held significance for someone so vital to be here. He sent a short, sharp nod at Pintar and Lenkovic, tilting his head towards the doors, where a small crowd was beginning to gather as people suddenly realized who exactly they were looking at. Before the murmuring citizens could react, however, several Huscarls and Civic Patrol MPs moved like liquid around the party, their military uniforms quickly reasserting authority in a society indoctrinated to knee-jerk away from such a barricade.

“Mr. Executive, I hope you understand we had to use our own vehicles. You’ll be protected if you trust-”

Vahlen was abruptly interrupted by a yell in the crowd, though turning would only reveal that a single woman had finally pushed through the crowd, swinging a vicious left hook at the MP who attempted to bar her path, sights fixed firmly on the Syaran delegation. Though this procession had been made low-key on purpose, it was clear she knew exactly who she was looking at. Interestingly, however, she was hollering not in Azurlav, but Aerickean.

“Fokkin’ bastards! Me family is stranded in de Est all cause ye cannae jus let tings go! I’ll fokkin’ kill ya!” she screamed, her fiery red hair threatening to come undone behind her as she lunged for the Executive. However, a Huscarl met her charge with a firm stance that told of a past in rugby, halting her progress for three more MPs to dogpile her from behind, though to her credit she continued to fight until one of them snapped restraints on her wrists, and even then she wasn’t completely subdued (and her cursing quieted) until she was abruptly tapped in the ribs with a stun gun.

“This way, quickly,” said Vahlen, moving to get the Southerners through as fast as possible. Ahead, an armored SUV escorted by a quartet of Huscarls with SMGs on motorbikes rested in the street, protected by several Civic Patrol MPs, though these were from the SWAT kompanie, dressed in dedicated infantry gear and carrying assault rifles instead of just shotguns.

Kostović, without saying a word, made his way to the SUV, content to believe the Huscarls would take care of the situation by themselves. He piled into the awaiting vehicle and took hisseat, happy to be behind armored plating. After the car started moving, normal heartbeats returned.

Lowellsburg was obviously best observed by full daylight. A modern city of brick and glass. When civil strife and war took care of quite a bit of the demolition work, renovating the city often times was roped right into the reconstruction. Even now, every decade without someone burning the city to the ground still brought reconstruction and renovations. The city center, for example, was practically a mural of reflective glass and grey concrete, though the outer boroughs in the distance still revealed older red bricks from the 80s, during the last time of great civil strife when riots had raged up and down the streets in the wake of the fascist regime being deposed.

The motorcade was moving along the larger streets, the cycles’ sirens clearing the way for the SUV, which purposefully flew Azurlav flags. With so much held in contention, it was best to keep the Executive’s head down. Valhen didn’t say much, just kept an eye beyond the bullet-resistant windows at their surroundings, his Kalt .40 sitting loose in its holster, a hand resting near it at all times.

At one point, the motorcade (in the interest of getting to the Rad Hus quickly) turned down another lane, only to reveal something slightly uncomfortable for all inside. The motorcade passed by several more MP cars, where several Civic Patrol soldiers stood over a half dozen men and women sitting on the ground, hands restrained behind their backs and glaring daggers up at their captors. On the wall behind them all, a red chain link was painted, spitting apart. Underneath were the letters ‘KSA’.

The three Syarans caught the sight outside their windows with interest. Pintar racked his mind to recall what the KSA stood for, while Lenković couldn’t hide a dip in his shoulders. In his mind, this State visit, already a bad idea, had gotten off on the entirely wrong foot. Kostović himself didn’t seem too bothered, commenting to his associates “Reminds me of home back in the day.”

The motorcade finally pulled back out onto the main road, passing the local temple as they turned into the thoroughfare. This one, as fitting for the capital, was dedicated to Odin, the Allfather stretching above the structure in tremendous carved wooden form, peering down at those on Midgard below him. The rest of the temple complex was maintained by the gothi, who kept the rustic stone house of worship maintained, recarving weathered runes and repainting faded murals. The Norse faith didn’t advocate overly grand decoration, so even this grand building seemed subdued and plain compared to Catholic cathedrals and Muslim mosques. But in its own way, the large structure held more religious reverence because of its bare appearance.

This time the reactions were a bit more reversed. Kostović, never truly the religious type, made a simple note of the temple and moved on. Lenković could appreciate the imposing and impressive architectural design at least. This was yet another area where the Syarans and Azurlavians differed; the bulk of Syara’s population were Arian Christians unlike the Norse pagans of their hosts. But while such religious differences were just fuel to the fire for divides like the Shalumnites and the Azurlavians, in Syara’s case it wasn’t that big of deal. It didn’t take a theologian to see that the Commonality worshipped wealth more than any God.

The city center housed areas of government and state business, from the Ministry of Agriculture to the capitol office of the Kraken Industrial Group. The thoroughfare, used to government vehicles up and down the lane, slowed appropriately for the motorcade, and Vahlen let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Normally such an important route would have been carefully planned and secured ahead of time for both passenger safety and limiting the dirtier underbellies the capital held off the main roads. But speed was important here, and as such they had simply gone with the fastest route this time. Monika, at least, was confident Radovan wouldn’t be too offset by what he saw.

The motorcade rolled up to the stone and wrought iron fence around the Rad Hus, the gate rolling open and the armored Huscsarl out front waving them in, the attack dog laying at his feet panting heavily, watching the SUV as his handler kept hold of the leash.

The Rad Hus had once been a palace, back in the High King’s days. Though battered, damaged and burned, the superstructure still survived, though the wood had long been replaced by marble and steel. The motorcade pulled up to the front doors, a set of dark wood flanked by Huscarls in both suits and armor, making sure the perimeter was clear before the door was finally opened, allowing Vahlen to step out.

“Sir, the Supreme Chairman awaits.”

Kostović offered a handshake to Vahlen, along with a small smile as he said “Much obliged.” The solid structure reminded the Syaran of their own Citadel back home, showing that at the very least both the Commonality and the United Republic appreciated brutalist designs.

The Rad Hus’ hallways were spartan and simple. Instead of paintings, murals were painted across several walls of various points and figures in history, longboats and jarls staring down in equal measure, while obsidian plaques and brass chandeliers complemented the red carpet and drapes. This was no longer a house of opulence or wealth, brutally functional in its appearance. Vahlen lead the Syarans through the building of governance as the daily routine of controlled chaos raged on. Though final decision came down to the Supreme Chairman, every issue had a leading up process to that point. Departments filtered down the work, investigating and calculating and compiling until the report that hit Monika’s desk as the end result told her everything she needed to and could launch whatever solution she approved. Even though the government thoroughfare outside held most of the important ministries’ main offices, they all still had an office in here, meeting in the same chambers nobles once did and hollering to each other over similar issues centuries later. Computers buzzed in offices, committees met to map out solutions and there were stacks of paper everywhere. The main hallways were full of traffic, though gave way as the Supreme Chairman’s lindsman led the delegation through towards the most important office in the building. Past the sealed War Room, past the large open press chamber (largely unused aside from photo opportunities and speeches), and around to Monika’s own office.

Kostović was the first to approach the Supreme Chairman. A flurry of thoughts flew through his head, most of them worries about his own appearance, but he ignored them. His standard black suit and green the were still perfectly pressed despite his concerns. He smiled his now familiar smile and offered his hand, crooked broken fingers and all, cuffs just barely revealing the ink hidden underneath his sleeves.

“Supreme Chairman.” He said with an air of professionalism, despite his accent giving each word an unmistakable tinge, “Thank you for inviting us into your homeland.”

---

Monika Schefer was a wreck. After flying to Aerick, then Ossoria, now back here and then the prospect of flying to Syara for the summit, she’d gotten little sleep. Last night, she’d flown in to be drowned by a dozen major decisions to review and approve or disapprove, then hear a proposal for a new staging base on the border with Azura for future deployments, look over the updated crop yields once more for the coming harvest and...well, she must have dozed off at her desk for an hour or two before her aide Pederson awoke her, informing her the Executive’s plane was entering Azurlav airspace. Within minutes, Vahlen had been dispatched, and she had proceeded to quickly tidy herself and her office up, habit driving her motions and restoring some semblance of neatness to her suit, a quick spritz of air freshener covering her completely as she ran her fingers through her hair.

By the time the Syaran party arrived, nothing was amiss, and she’d quickly dusted some powder across her cheeks, checked her planned itinerary and called Pederson in with a fresh pot of coffee, though she winced as she recognized the weak flavor of Azurlav grown beans.

As Kostović and party entered, she took one last sip, setting the mug down as she stepped forward, taking his handshake firmly. She’d be a liar if she stated he hadn’t been drifting around her thoughts, and she decisively crushed them, knowing the very foolish reason they existed. They had caused her to make that call, and even after inviting Ra...the Executive down she’d needed a far more state valid reason for his attendance.

“Mister Executive, Foreign Minister, General. Welcome to the Rad Hus. I must say, you’re the first foreign party to come through here since the Great War. I’m pleased to have you.”

Kostović couldn’t stop his smile from getting a big bigger, and perhaps a bit too suddenly he tried to force it back to a more professional expression. “Thank you for having me, Supreme Chairman. With all that’s happening, I’m surprised we could find the time for this all.”

He let his eyes glance around the room, as if taking in the details of the office. He resettled his eyes on Monika before speaking again, this time with a small grin. “I have to admit I’m impressed. If I was as busy as yourself I doubt I’d be awake enough to do much of anything.The last few days must have been, hectic, to say the least.”

“Busy, yes. But old hat,” Monika replied, stepping round the desk to her chair, gesturing to the guest seats in front of her. “Please, sit. I’ve been doing these long shifts since university. It wasn’t easy to be a radical in those days. But enough of those memories. I understand our time here is short, and I wish to hit up as many topics and talks as we can. With all the controversy out there around this Treaty, we have to be -seen- cooperating here, before the Summit.”

She reached over, shoving a stack of folders to the corner of her desk, thinking for a second before picking out a sheet seemingly at random, examining it before turning it towards the men sitting down.

“Before we get started, I did want to state that we’ve already selected a few properties for conversion to the Syaran embassy. They’re all here in Lowellsburg, its just a matter of your personal choice.”

Kostović smiled as Monika recollected her times at her university. “Things seemed a lot simpler back then, at least for me. I wasn’t much of a radical, too busy seeing how I could make an extra credit here and there.” He said, taking a seat when she offered it. as she offered it. “We as well want to ensure that once proceedings go under way, it’s clear to the rest of the region that our two states see eye-to-eye on most issues.

He glanced over the listed properties before conferring with Lenković, speaking briefly and quietly in their native tongue (not out of a desire for secrecy, as Kostović already knew his counterpart could speak Syaran fluently). After a short conferral they selected the property closest to the Rad Hus itself, signing it with a pen and small star to indicate which one. Kostović handed it back to the Supreme Chairman with another comment. “Speaking of the summit, we have quite the laundry list of guests coming. Yourselves of course, and the Shalumnites, the Ossorians, but also the Quenmihn, the Cacertians, the Azuran Emperor himself, the Delkorans, the Allamunnic.”

He added after a moment in a more serious tone. “And of course, the Acreans and the Mubatans. So as you can imagine, this will be an interesting meeting, to say the least.”

Monika’s immediate reaction was, as expected, muted. She simply nodded, grunting slightly before reaching down, pulling out a small flask from her drawer, opening it up and pouring a drop of rum into her coffee mug before taking another pull. A bit inappropriate, but thinking of interacting with those two was an unpleasant event she didn’t relish.

“That’s putting it mildly. Now I’m expecting war to be declared by the end of the day,” she jested, setting the mug down.

Abruptly, the door to her office door opened, and Pederson stepped in, clearing his throat as he moved past Vahlen. Monika threw a hand into the air, an aggravated look on her face.

“Really, Lev?”

“Madame Chairman, I know you said you didn’t want to be disturbed during your meeting, but you -did- want to see the updated crop yield estimates, and Agriculture is threatening to blow down the door-”

“Fine, fine. C’mon in. Two minutes, understand?”

With that, her aide stepped around, extending another folder to her, which she flipped open and perused extremely quickly, seeing the information she was looking for before quickly scribbling her signature at the bottom and handing it back.

“Gods know I’ve only wanted a better estimate for the past three days and now Ministry of Agriculture is yelling for it to finally pass. Isn’t it a little funny? Thank you Lev.”

Nodding, Pederson turned around, stepping out as quickly as he’d come in.

“Right, apologies for that...the ever turning wheels of government. The Supreme Chairman is the final arbiter of all. You might think of me as a queen of sorts, though I had to actually earn the position.” She chuckled. “Alright, where was I? Right, the Summit. It goes without saying that of course I’ll be there with my own delegation.”

Kostović found himself forced to suddenly stifle a comment he wanted to make about Monika Shefer being a queen, which he hid behind a smile. Where in the hell that had come from he had no idea, but he ignored it for now. “We’ll be happy to host you and your entourage of course, if for no other reason that it seems fair after you invited us here.”

“And speaking of the summit. It’s the official position of our government that this whole crisis is the sole affairs of Shalum and Ossoria. However, it seems we have been unable to avoid the inter-tangled web of alliances and allies that each nation possesses. And now with our own ties forged with you, we risk being drawn in as well.”

“A risk we are willing to accept.” Kostović said firmly, folding his arms, “But that does bring up another issue. As the hosts and head of this peace summit the Commonality must represent a neutral party in this whole affair. It’s the best way of assuring these negotiations go through, and the last thing I need is some fucking noble prick accusing us of bias.”

He sighed. “Which is a big part of why our options were so limited with helping you out with the Mubatan situation.” The basis of our relations with the Mubatans is our trade, specifically the selling of surplus military hardware and equipment to the Mubatans. It’s a profitable, but unremarkable relationship.”“Which limits the amount of political influence we actually hold over them. And frankly, we’ve yet to see the stability necessary for further investment in Mubata. So our options were and are limited.”

“But for the purpose of this summit, we need to treat Mubata just like any other interested third party, or else we run the risk of compromising our neutrality for the negotiations.” Kostović explained. “Which brings up the important question, what does the United Republic hope to see come out of these negotiations? While the primary purpose is for dialogue between Shalum and Ossoria, with so many regional representatives attending there’s bound to be more than just those two discussing terms.”

Monika understood why the Commonality couldn’t have interfered. So soon after a switch in politics, such a move would have spelled disaster and potentially endangered the conference. The good news was, plausible deniability had won out in the end and the NSB and URA Special Forces had resolved the issue, all without painting any blame on the Commonality.

“My own primary purpose is self-preservation, Mister Executive,” she said bluntly, leaning back in her seat and sipping her coffee. “What, expected me to say something nice about peacekeeping and goodwill between neighbors? Humans will always kill other humans. It’s not something you can get rid of. I’d like to work with everyone, of course. But the other alternative is getting Tara and Tyler to stop shooting each other. A war like that so close to my borders would force me to pick a side eventually. And I don’t quite trust Tyler Holland to leave me be with Acrea pulling the strings.” Another sip. “So. I prevent this war, I prevent the next one too. And possibly the one that would have come after that. My generals are always ready to fight, while I work to keep the fighting from breaking out. I find it’s a good counterbalance.” She set the mug down, staring Kostović dead in the eye. “That a good enough reason for you?” she asked airily, as if merely discussing the weather.

“It’s not like I can blame you.” Kostović admitted with a smirk. “The Commonality’s principle concern, as well as mine is how a war in the north would negatively impact our trade franchises in the area. Specifically the fact that you and I sit on one of the economic lifebloods of this region. But self preservation, just like making money, are simple, if honest, goals. And the world we live in is a lot of things, but simple isn’t one of them. You and I know that Acrea is the wild card in all this, and if things were to come to blows the Soviets intervention will heavily influence the strategic situation.”

“But what exactly does self-preservation entail? The status quo? From our point of view, something should be done to ensure this kind of flare up doesn’t occur again. Too many times we’ve had half the region nearly on the brink of war because the Ossorians and Shalumnites nearly came to blows. How do you propose we fix that?”

He had a point. If there would ever be a conflict that could never quite be resolved, it would be the Ossorians and Shalumites. Both sides held ancient grudges that stretched over dozens of wars. Even “trigger-happy” Azurlavai, which had pillaged most of the known world on several occasions, hadn’t gotten into as many wars as these two with each other. But, for Monika there was a solution already in place on the table.

“I’m...working the Osssorian angle right now. A new solution on restraint and deterrence. There’s not much I can do about Shalum, and I unfortunately can only divulge so much. Just let it be known that soon, I’ll have a much better handle on what kind of conflicts Ossoria gets into.”

She leaned forward again, hands laid on top of the desk. “I’m not looking to preserve the status quo. I’m looking to make sure anyone who considers another border incident grounds to launch an international war feels the pressure of knowing they put millions, perhaps billions of lives at risk. It’s risky, and if it backfires it’ll mean the next Great War. But hiking the stakes up that high means we’re -less- likely to see conflict. Consider; since the two atomic warheads were dropped on Azura in the ‘40s, no nuclear devices have been utilized in hostile action since. Because every major power put their own back into making bombs of their own so no one could be held hostage. Conventional war and diplomacy works just like that. I’m looking to lock Shalum and Ossoria into a state where they’d never declare war on each other because destruction would be -that- certain.” She paused, watching him carefully as one of her hands picked up a pen, idly flipping it around in her fingers. “It’s not ideal. It’s probably going to lock Eracura into a Cold War. But it means the cycle is finally broken.”

“Threatening mutually assured destruction is certainly high stakes.” Kostović pointed out. “And it does put billions of lives at risk. But if you think it’ll work, then I’d say it’s preferable to constantly be planning for armed conflict. But how will the Soviets react? What is the Acreans start planting ICBM launchers in Shalum, and arm their GSFS with tactical nuclear weapons?”

“Nukes,” Monika cursed, the pen coming still. “I hate nuclear warheads. They’re a coward's weapon. And they serve no purpose today. Every nation puts so much effort into making them and maintaining them so that they can sit and never do anything. We need them...but Acrea moving nukes up into Shalum is far more likely to result in political effect than ever firing them.” She shrugged as the pen finally came back to the desk. “I don’t fit my subs with nukes. Even the ones capable of firing them...what do you think? Any chance of trying to slip an atomic control accord in while we’ve got this miraculous conference going on?”

She stood at this point, stepping over to the coffee pot to fill up her mug, reminding herself she might want to consider asking for some southern beans so long as she had finally established more stable relations with Syara. But instead, she glanced back over her shoulder at Kostović, smiling as she dropped her serious persona for a moment. “Did you want a drink? I can’t remember if you said.” There, it almost felt like that night on Aerick, when they’d met as equals trying to stop the chaos and prevent carnage. It didn’t feel like two world leaders in talks. More like she’d invited a friend over for a cup of coffee. “Are you hungry? I think the chef was making some poutine. I ordered it some time ago…”

Kostović shook his head. “No nation in this region will give up their nukes. Especially not with the Acreans.” He smirked. “But maybe if you ask sweetly enough you might change their minds. I doubt they’d listen to me.”

“I’d love a cup of coffee and something to eat. Been so busy these past few weeks I can’t remember the last time I actually sat down for a meal.”

Monika passed a cup of coffee over, setting a small tin of sugar cubes and a can of cream on her desk too. “Our coffee’s not quite like yours, I’m afraid. The soil’s hard, so our coffee is like our people; tough, bitter and unwilling to go down without a fight.”

A quick call to Pederson on the intercom had the poutine and several cold cut sandwiches delivered, which she set on the study table, clearing away a stack of thick books. In a minute, her jacket was hanging on her chair, her tie loosened and her hair pulled back into a messy bun as she dug into her meal, realizing she’d been practically starving until now. And as they ate, the two talked.

“Everyone on the internet keeps going on about the ‘retro 80s’. Ever since I loosened the censorship laws, it's like underground music just took over,” she noted as she took a bite of a yellow apple. “Television too. Do you know what ‘anime’ is? Its this Gylian style of animated show that’s on every channel, I swear.” She shook her head. “I’m all for changing the way some things work in this country, but it all might be changing a bit -too- much for my taste.”

“Everyone outside Syara says our coffee is great, but personally I think Mansuriyyah produces the best.” He nonetheless graciously accepted his cup and drank deeply. “I used to hate coffee. No amount of creamer or sugar changed it. It wasn’t until I got into politics that I finally started drinking it by the liter.” He removed his own jacket and sat in his seat legs crossed and leaned back. His shorter collar and sleeves gave glimpses to the ink that stained his body from his wrists to his neck.

“I never had the chance to watch TV when I was a kid. Didn’t start when I finally got a television either.” He shrugged. “There’s always something weird out there that I haven’t heard about, whether it’s anime, synthwave, or some kind of weird insect some scientist just discovered. I used to think watching TV and movies was just a waste of time, until I learned how much money you could make off of it. If I hadn’t gone into politics, a TV producer would’ve been a nice gig.” He took a bite out of his sandwich. “But arms dealing had it’s perks.”

Monika chuckled, wiping her mouth a bit. “At least there’s not a talent ceiling,” she quipped. “So, I may know about your official career, and I have what my agents have told me, but I’m kind of interested in I'm hearing about it from you personally. How exactly did you go from common street grunt to the leader of one of the largest capitalist economies in the world?”

Radovan paused for a moment to collect his thoughts before he spoke. At times his words would speed up, while at others he would speak slowly, almost solemnly. His tone and inflection changed almost at random, as though speaking of his past was bringing forth a lot more personality than he was used to showing.

“After I got out of prison I was pretty much on my own. All I had was a connection. One of the guys on my bloc, an old friend named Devesil, he had taken me under his wing. Gave me my first shiv and saved my life on more than one occasion. He was selling guns before he wound up behind bars, and when I got released he told me of a contact to get a hold of.”

“Zvonko was his name, a low level arms dealer who worked out of Banja. I met up with him, told him I was a friend of Devesil. He gave me a job and not long afterwards I was hauling weapons back and forth, selling to PMCs and security firms. It was basic shit, automatic rifles and handguns mostly, but it made me plenty of cash. Zvonko and I got along well, but after his wife got pregnant for a third time he decided to call it quits and handed the reins over to me.”

“At that point we were a pretty sizeable group selling all across Syara and even outside the borders. We were a pretty slick outfit,” He said with a hint of pride, “not strictly legit but never breaking any serious rules, and as long as the right people got their cut everything was okay. We actually ended up ditching most of our illegal aspects as we went more mainstream; not everyone was happy with that but there was more cash in more legally recognizable contracts. Nobody overpays for security like banks and firms. After a few years we started selling more than just guns and ammo, soon it was refurbished armored cars and guys for hire. It wasn’t the badass shit you see in the movies, just a couple of big guns with shotguns keeping local business owners happy.”

“Some of the bigger boys on the block noticed that we were undercutting their business; we ran cheap rates but always got a profit, so we were popular. A few of the dumber ones tried to stick their noses in our business, we but fucked them up enough that the rest backed off. Save for one, Haluzan Arms. They were a pretty standard business but they were more high end, selling top gear for government security agencies. They came to us with a proposition; merge our services with theirs and start expanding our markets.”

He shrugged. “It was good money, and they offered me a place on the board, so I signed up. We tripled our profits; we were already doing good but Haluzan had the top level connections that our outfit never got. I stayed with Haluzan for five years, and then out of the blue Csesztreg Industries, biggest arms manufacturers in Syara, buys us out. I was nearly out of a job again.”

“But after spending so many years selling guns I wasn't about to quit. So I read up a lot on their products, what sold well, what didn’t, and I started talking with whoever would listen. Most people ignored me, but one guy in particular, Silvije Bilobrk, didn’t. Bilobrk had made his millions orchestrating deals between your forefathers and the Dominion back during the Civil War. For some reason he liked me, I don’t know for sure why. Maybe I just struck a chord with him. Someone told me I reminded him of his son, who got blown up during the civil war. I don’t know, but either way I ended up getting a nice new office and position on the board. A lot of the other cats didn’t like; they all degrees in business and management from prestigious universities where all I had was a rap sheet.”

“But there’s something about making a deal underneath a dim fluorescent light in a parking garage that no fancy college can replicate. I mean it’s not like I wasn’t educated, I spent the entire time reading and learning all I could about stocks, portfolios, deal makers and deal breakers. It paid off.”

“Now in Syara, if you want to get into political office you need corporate connections. The arms industry is a little unique; it’s a real niche position so if you play your cards right it’s a real high reward low risk opportunity. So when there was a spot open in the National Assembly, I took a chance. I won because I was a compromise, basically. Three main corporations run Syara; Juzia Incorporated, Lilotya Industries, and Corvatti Corporation. Each one of them wants the most members of government in their pockets. So when they fight over each other but can’t get a win, they compromise and accept someone none of them have to worry about. I was that guy.”

“In 2013 the old douche that used to run Syara resigned. Rumor was he fell out of favor with the mega-corps, but in reality he was just old and tired. So of course everyone rushed to try to get their man appointed to Executive. And again, no one came out on top. So they had to settle for someone none of them actually controlled.”

He gestured to himself. “It was really that simple. There were a few others in the running, but after the previous guy they wanted someone younger, so I would be around longer. Stability and longevity, ya know.” He exhaled when he was finally done. “Been a while since I spilled that whole story.”

She had listened the whole time, finishing her meal and tucking into a new cup of coffee with gusto, lapping up the story with rapt attention. The idea that someone could literally rise up from the streets to become ruler of an entire country had always been the dream of societies promising to empower their lower classes. But even in meritocratic Azurlavai, such dreams were hardly ever possible much less granted. Here was a real to life success story of a many who had climbed the ladder and made it to the top despite all those clinging to the rungs above and below.

Monika suddenly set her mug down, stepping over to a closet behind the desk.

“Think your men might let you sneak away a few hours?” she asked as she fished out a small black vest, strapping it over the shirt. Ignoring her uniform jacket, she instead pulled out a plain navy blue suit jacket, stripping her tie away. As the jacket was buttoned up, the vest disappeared, and she suddenly looked far more like an ordinary businesswoman, out on the town.

“I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about my country. Seen a little. How about seeing a bit more?”

She wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt so bold. In Radovan, she was suddenly hit with that spark to be spontaneous, outgoing and adventurous, where most of her life she had been logical and professional. But lately, politics had been stifling, and between putting together alliances and what she expected in the future, she didn’t know if she’d get the chance to be alive again.

Speaking of which, she picked out and loaded a Vektor CP1, racking a 10 round magazine and slipping it into her concealed holster.

Radovan downed the last of his coffee and watched with inquisitive eyes as Monika went from national leader to average businesswoman. He stifled an internal thought that wished he could see her more often in something casual and tried to keep a neutral expression. “I'm always up for a little adventure.” He said, putting on his jacket. “From what I've seen of your city there's plenty to go around.” He buttoned up his own jacket and raised his eyebrows when he noticed Monika loading a handgun.

“Expecting trouble, or are you just that protective of me?”

“I always expect trouble. It’s what’s kept me alive this long, even before politics.” She flashed him a smirk as she tugged the drawer open and pulled out an inoffensive key on a fob. “So buckle up.”

[Azurlavai]

The vehicle she’d chosen wasn’t a Kraken Autowerks vehicle like what the Rad Hus usually employed, with its government plates and all too prominent black coloration. Instead, she had picked out a Skarsgård Motor Kompani R14 Tømmerulv, colored a shade of orange. A muscle car designed for engine strength and acceleration, though she rarely got the chance to use it these days. Behind the orange sports car, Vahlen would travel in a plain black government PBV 10 Shepard, a simple pickup truck he always kept on standby in case he had to go somewhere quickly.

The Tømmerulv came out of the Rad Hus compound at a good speed. Not too fast, of course. Would be rather embarrassing to be pulled over by the Civic Patrol. But pulling out of the government district, Monika let the powerful car have some more gas onto the open road. Lowellsburg streaked by, steel and brick and glass flying by. Cafes, bars, shopfronts and more blurred past, and Monika drove under the Albrecht Arch, a massive structure made of obsidian and carved wood.

“I wasn’t born here, but I’ve come to love it all the same. I know of other cities where they try to partition the dirty away from the clean. But here-” she pointed out Radovan’s side. They were coming up on a rise, and in the distance the fires of industry lit up the west side of the capital, smoke clogging the sky and blowing away into the distance. Residentials and other neighborhoods sprawled away beyond, and the rise flattened out.

An hour into the drive, Monika finally pulled over. They had driven out of town at this point, into the hills and rises. From here, Lowellsburg hugged the hills to the south, stretching away to occupy the foothills. From here, one could see the Rad Hus and Temple of Odin as mere smudges, and the factories disappeared behind a cloud of smog, the thousands of residentials large blocks put together into a jigsaw piece.

The road up here in the hill was relatively empty. The roads to the west, east and south were crammed with traffic, but routes north didn’t fill much around here until you got on one of the larger turnpikes like the 81. There was a rest area here, with a truck stop for haulers, a gas station, a motel and a convenience store called “Moltki”. Here, she bought a handful of Nike Max bottles, a dark soda that fizzled in the mouth but had smooth flavor. She tossed one to Radovan, kept one for herself and gave the third to Vahlen, who had parked a fair distance away.

“The little businesses are the best,” she said as she tugged out a box from Sven’s Snak Shak, revealing it to be full of doughy sugar pastries. “Sven’s has a few franchises, but the bigger groups are getting overtaken by the health groups. This,” she held up the Nike “Used to have caffeine in it. Now it has ‘zero sugar or calories’. Typical healthie bullshit.” She took another drink.

“So. What should we see first? The monuments? The bars? Or those nice dirty sights we’d rather you not see?”

Radovan had grown to like city life during the last few years. It had helped of course that as a national leader he was entitled to certain benefits that your average citizen would never comprehend, and Radovan had never been forced to sit through traffic or deal with congestion. “
Back home,” He explained when Monika spoke about cities, “We always have the slums like a ring around the cities. The factories are usually close by.”

The small pit stop where they pulled into was unfamiliar to Radovan both in style and purpose; Most of Syara’s internal transportation was provided by trains not trucks, and motels were relatively uncommon in Syara. He accepted the soft drink she had offered him and sipped it gingerly (he couldn’t recall the last time he had drank soda), and soon found it’s taste refreshing.

“Let’s do it in that order. Monuments, bars, and then what no one likes to see.” He said.

Monika grinned as she reached out with her Nike bottle, tapping Radovan’s in a mock toast.

They’d already passed the arch and the Temple of Odin, but Monika knew of several others. The Museum of Military Glory was a large attraction in Lowellsburg, and its name stated its purpose exactly. They didn’t linger here long, but it depicted several important parts of Azzie history. From the original exodus out of Acrea, the Great Famine of 922, the Viking Era, repelling the Crusades, the Industrial Revolution, Fall of the High King and the Rise of the Republic, the First Border War, the Great War, Fall of the Totalists. One could essentially map out Azzie history by looking through military history.

Next was the Consourse, a massive circular road surrounding a park full of statues and picnickers. They’d both already eaten, but the clear air was still good to walk through the park in the open daylight. This time of year, random storms were a thing, after all.

After the monuments and high sites tour, Monika took Radovan to her favorite bar, Olsrehn. It wasn’t a hole in the wall dive like some places she’d been, but she’d rather not run into a goon from one of the Families or Brorskapet bikers either. Olsrehn was a nice place in midtown, with posters from famous bands on the walls and an old fashioned vinyl jukebox in the corner. Radovan was treated to good old-fashioned Azurlav whiskey and some smoother vodka, while she nursed a beer.

Azzie pub crawls were a time honored tradition, and the two went to four more bars, sampling the customers and drinks. Sometimes, Monika would be recognized and either welcomed or stared at, but she often simply shrugged it off or played it straight, trying not to reveal she was more than a little inebriated. Fortunately, Radovan went mostly unrecognized, and as a result when someone snapped a photo with their phone, she wasn’t worried about them knowing who she was with.

Vahlen, of course, immediately took the phone, deleted the picture and handed it back silently.

Afterwards, it was down to the industrial sector. Lowellsburg wasn’t a poor city by any means, but the residentials were definitely a mark down from the higher sectors. While most people could afford a decent house or apartment here, the streets were less priority for maintenance, graffiti was spotted in areas where it wasn’t deemed important to immediately remove them, and as they were touring the streets around the factories they could hear gunfire in the near distance, which started as a few pops from handguns but turned into a storm of automatic shots when it was clear the Civic Patrol had showed up. Vahlen quietly recommended they head back to the Rad Hus here.

And so it was that, in the early evening, the two finally stepped back into Monika’s office, laughing and smelling of industrial smoke and just a bit too much alcohol. She knew the press probably got more than a few shots of her out and about with Radovan, and while Vahlen had intercepted most of the people attempting to step over to her, they’d still been stopped throughout the day. Regardless, no one had taken a shot or a swing at her, and she considered that a victory.

She tucked a lock of hair behind an ear, chuckling as she shut the door behind her.

“So...you have fun touring my beautiful city?”

Suddenly, his response was extremely important to her.

Radovan couldn’t remember the last time he had so much fun. Lowellsburg itself wasn’t a bad city, though he was personally more accustomed to higher society of Syara’s business elite, but it was a still an adventure, one that would be in his mind for weeks to come. Virtually no one had recognized him, which suited the Executive just fine, though he was still amazed at the fact that Monika had been willing to go out into the less scrupulous parts of the city with him. Maybe she didn’t fear a thing in the world, which either made her crazy or incredibly brave. Either quality Radovan liked.

He gulped down Azurlavian whiskey and learned there was more to that type of liquor than just the Ossorian varieties, and found himself clinging to every word that spilled out of Monika’s lips as she explained the history behind her home, the stories she had been raised on. Never before in his life had he cared about Azurlavai, it’s people or traditions, but now he drank it up like it was life giving nectar. So as he walked into her office, not as coordinated or balanced as he had been this morning, but much much happier.

There was something about this Azurlavian women, this northern fascist, this...incredibly wonderful person that Radovan couldn’t get enough of. From the adorable way she brushed locks of hair from her face or smiled genuinely, the Syaran leader couldn’t stop himself from wishing nothing more than to just spend time with her.

“This was probably,” He said in words that a bit slurred but still comprehensible despite his accent, “the most fun I’ve had in years. And you,” he gestured with his hand, “are probably my favorite of all these other heads of state.” Had he been a bit more sober he might’ve been able to formulate a more meaningful or comprehensive compliment, but his tone and facial expression made it clear he was being completely honest.

She giggled (when the hell had she last done that?) before she stumbled over to her desk, leaning against it to try and get her head straight. For some reason, when he was near her she felt like striking against the grain and being outgoing, no longer constrained by starched uniforms and stacks of paperwork. She felt like letting her hair down and getting drunk. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken her own car out on the road for a drive (it had to have been just before she was voted to Supreme Chairman) and actually walking through the parks was vastly different than merely holding a photo op in one. Radovan was a new, wild change in her normally orderly and straight-laced life, and the first steps she’d taken for herself since graduating from university.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, you’re my favorite too.” She chuckled. “It helps you’re one of the youngest I’ve met too.”

The beer was still swirling in her gut and head. She’d been bought plenty of drinks by her citizens, and while she’d turned down the heavy liquor she’d still had quite a few more beers than was safe, even for an Azurlav lass. With the tipsiness and endorphines still swimming in her system, she felt like doing something stupid.

“You’re not bad looking either.”

She felt like doing something wild.

“Pretty handsome, actually…”

She felt like doing him.

Her eyes flicked up and down, and before she could stop herself, she bit her lip. Fortunately, she cleared her throat and composed herself a little, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear again (even though it was already there).

It was almost comical how slow Radovan was to react, still somewhat inebriated. It was like a wave slowly building up, before he suddenly picked up on the not so subtle cues in front of him. And suddenly his eyes were earnest and wide, looking at her face, taking note of every detail because he wanted to be absolutely sure this was what she wanted. As street thug turned corporate leader and head of the region’s most unempathetic states, Radovan Kostović had never at any point in his life been overly concerned with asking nicely for just about anything. But as he slowly made his way over to where she was standing, cautiousness defined every step, making sure he was not overstepping any boundary or breaching any protocol.

It wasn’t until he was inches away from her, eyes still wide, smirk gone and replaced with an intimate but concerned look did he slowly and gently reach up to cup her head with his hands. His broken, crooked fingers, so many years spent pulling triggers, flicking lighters, thumbing wads of cash, or curled into fists, practically trembled as he made contact with her perfect skin. His breath was practically ragged and his heart pounding before he finally pressed his lips against hers, still trying to be as gentle as possible with the beautiful Azurlav women before him.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the fact she’d been the most alone in her time in office than she’d been most of her life. Maybe she’d been under too much stress lately. Maybe it was all of that.

But when he pressed into her, her hands didn’t know where to go at first. They’d halfway raised, as if to push him away, then settled on his chest, then slid to grip handfuls of his shirt and pulled him in closer.

Monika had...maybe six boyfriends over her life, and one girlfriend when she’d had several questions back in university. The male species had lost its appeal to her as she’d found she was leaving them behind intellectually. Later in life, when she’d learned of their usefulness, she’d apparently intimidated many. So, she’d focused on her studies and career and that had gotten her...here, where she was apparently winding a leg up and around his, leaning back over the top of her desk.

The door was locked. No one else had a key, aside from Vahlen.

She pulled back for a moment, to ask him a question, but looking into his eyes so close up she lost it in her head immediately, diving back in to kiss him again, deeper, hungrier.

Radovan had never been a man for relationships. He had throughout his life usually had a woman in his life that he could call on whenever he needed to expel some frustration. Most of the women he had ever been intimate with were usually strippers or hookers. It wasn’t a point of pride for him, but never had he considered looking for a partner during his life.

But right now all he wanted was Monika. He could feel her leg around his waist, keeping him close. When she broke their connection he almost whimpered, wanting the taste of her lips back. She almost looked like she wanted to say something, before she dived back in and he felt his heart start racing again. He wanted to be gentle, to let her get comfortable and let her set the pace for everything. He pressed his lips firmly against her, his grip shifting to the back of her head. This time he broke the kiss, only to drop to her neck and keep tasting every inch of exposed flesh he could find.

Her skin was on fire everywhere he touched, and he seemed to have locked into that sweet spot on her neck that made her grit her teeth as she squirmed, a hand sliding into his hair and tugging him closer. Her jacket was suddenly three sizes too small, and she struggled with her buttons one handed. Suddenly, her center of gravity slipped, and they both fell backwards over her desk, knocking her name placard, a stack of papers and two folders to the floor. She gave it only a thought before she sat up slightly, finishing her jacket buttons and tossing the bothersome garment away, reconnecting with him and tugging at his own blazer.

He had never wanted anything more that Monika. Radovan could barely contain himself he was on the verge of shaking. His hands shot to his own jacket, which he unbuttoned and slid off, not caring where it ended up so long as there was one less article of clothing between him and her. His grip dropped to her hips, holding them tightly while his mouth continued to explore her neck, nipping against her jawline before finding her lips again. While his lips found hers, he started to unbuckle the belt the held his pants up.

It was her shirt that disappeared next. Not having anyone to buy for, she owned little lingerie, and as a result her bra was a plain grey (even worse, it was the same one she’d been wearing the past few days, since she’d been so busy). As her shirt joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor, she practically attacked Radovan, sinking her nails (fashionably short and subtly painted brown) into his shoulder as she started on his own shirt, tugging as hard as she could.

Abruptly, there was a banging at the door, and she practically had a heart attack as he head snapped around, eyes wide in fear. Lucky for them both, Vahlen did not open the door (whether he was aware of what was happening or just wanted to give the two leaders their privacy she didn’t know).

“Madame Chairman, Marshal Rappe wants a word. I told him you were in a meeting.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Axel would understand. As bullheaded as he was, he knew he intruded on her a dozen times a day, and if she was busy she needed to speak to him later. She panted, staring up at Radovan mere inches above her (when had his eyes gotten so goregous?).

“Thank you, Tor. I’ll see him later, after we’re done here.”

Thank Freyja she could keep her composure. A light murmuring could be heard from the hall, and the sound of military dress shoes on hard marble striding away. She exhaled, head tipping back onto the desk as she took a moment to bask in the close call before she glanced back up at him.

“So…” she smiled, a little less drunk this time. And suddenly nervous.

Radovan almost laughed. It hadn’t been the first time someone had interrupted him in the middle of getting intimate. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his blood pooling to his waist, and his muscles tense. His eyes found hers again and he nearly lost his breathe. Her hair was getting messy, a bead of sweat near her hairline, and he clothes now disheveled. He couldn’t recall a more gorgeous woman. A small smile still on his lips, he leaned forward to kiss her once more before he made his way south, to her collarbone, her chest, past her stomach until he was at her waist, removing obstacles as he got to his knees and began exploring with his tongue. He hadn’t done anything like this in years, but we was determined to make her feel amazing.

Now this was an experience she remembered fondly. Some of her boyfriends had done it right, a few not so well. Her ex-girlfriend ironically hadn’t been good at it either, and she held her breath, praying Radovan knew what he was doing as he slid her pants and underwear down.

With a sigh that was equal parts relief and pleasure, she suddenly felt herself sag, barely propped up by her elbows on the desk as her teeth dug into her bottom lip, the actions of her hips now fully out of her control. Thanks the Gods he was one of the good ones after all. She’d hate to have soldiered on through the interruption only to be disappointed. Within only minutes, he’d already made a quivering wreck out of her, and she barely felt any desire to restrain herself as she lunged off the desk, pinning him to the floor as she quickly made short work of the rest of his garments. She cared not how much they cost. Apparently, he could afford replacements.

She’d fantasized a few times about getting down in her office, but the unlikely chance of having someone of that attraction in here with her had always put an end to that dream before too long. Fortunately, the rug turned out to be just the right amount of comfortable, though the rug burn on her ass after he flipped her over was rather unwelcome.

Afterwards, they just lay there, trying to catch her breath. Monika felt a sheen of sweat on her still hot skin, realizing her office was cold with the air-conditioning. Her ceiling, she realized, needed to be washed. She’d never noticed that before. Ironically, she’d never been in this position to see it like that. Her hair was fanned out underneath her head, and she ran a hand over her face, blinking as she tried to make the spots go away.

Radovan needed a moment for his heartrate to slow down and synchronize with his lungs. He lay on the carpet, staring at the ceiling, wondering how he had gotten here. It was funny how somethings just happened, seemingly only requiring his presence. Or maybe he was the catalyst to it all, the spark needed to light the fire. He didn’t know. And to be honest to himself, he didn’t care. He was happy. A month ago he had considered Monika Schefer an upstart and a foe. Now there would always be a place in his heart reserved for her. She had snuck up on him almost, transforming from a foreign head of state to a beautiful women that as he lay next to he couldn’t help but admire.

When his body was finally back to normal, he leaned over on his side to kiss her once more. His lips formed into a small smirk. “I’d say this meeting was a success, yes?”

She laughed, covering her face with both hands as she mockingly rolled away.

“Gods, I don’t even know where that came from! That was…” she rolled back, looking at him over her shoulder. “A bit wild...but I’d say we’ve definitely improved diplomatic relations.”

She was quiet for a moment, not quite rolled back to face him as she tugged one of his hands up onto her hip, her head so close she could hear his heart in his chest. She felt good, certainly, but a small frown creased her face. Finally, though, she summoned up her courage.

“So what happens now? I mean...it’s not like I can ask you out to dinner next Saturday.”

His hand laid casually on her hip, before moving up to hold one of hers. His lips explored her shoulders as she spoke, taking in her words. It occurred to him that he had no real answer to her inquiry. What were they? What future did he see with her? Was it too early to thinking about these things? Or too late?

“Maybe not dinner.” He said tongue-in-cheek. ”But there’s a summit I’m hosting, maybe you’ve heard about it. Trying to stop your neighbors from getting us all killed.”

He sat up, hand still intertwined with hers. “Honestly? We carry on. And hope we can see each other more often. We still have jobs to do. Even if this was a wonderful reprieve.”

“These next few weeks will be monumental for all of us.”

“You are a very,” she kissed him again “Mysterious man, Rad. Okay, I’ll accept your summit date. The things a girl has to do just to get a night out.” she chuckled, snuggling up against him.

“Shame I don’t have any girlfriends to go ‘squee’ annoyingly with,” she muttered, pulling a face. “Not like I can tell anyone really. Now I’ve got to worry about how the press will spin it. I can control my newspapers, but the internet’s a different thing. They’ll blow this way out of…”

She stopped, turning over and facing him again, frown disappearing as she carefully looked into his eyes. With a small grunt, she leaned in and kissed him gently, almost cautiously. Enough of that. She could be a political leader again later. Right now, she was trying to figure out if she was still single or not.

She pulled back a bit, giving him a coy look. “Did you want to retire to your quarters or uh…” her hand went exploring a bit, squeezing experimentally “Did you want to continue our talks here?”

“Who cares what they say?” Radovan said. “That Tyler the Impregnator usually grabs all the attention already, doesn’t he? Who cares what we do?” He leaned forward to kiss her again. “If I could stay I would. Being with you...I haven’t felt this great in God knows how long. Just promise me we’ll keep this going.” He pulled her hand close so he could kiss it, maintaining eye contact. “Because Monika, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about someone before.”

“Wow, that’s…” She meant to say beautiful, heartwarming, amazing. What came out was “Fast. I mean...nice.” She backpedaled, trying not to crush him. “You’re a find, Rad. You really are. And I’d love to get to know you a lot better. But, just to be careful let’s not say things until we’re sure we’re ready to be there. Things are already going to be complicated. Last thing we need is to confuse each other.”

She leaned in, kissing him again. “That said, you are -very- good with your mouth. Silver tongue included. And I’m looking forward to finding out where this goes. With you, Mister Executive”

Especially if he kept up his performance like that drunken romp. With that, she rolled up onto him, with a deeper, more meaningful kiss before standing, leaning over him in all her glory as she offered him a hand up, trying not to look too saucy with her smiles and winks. If they stayed in here all visit, they’d never get anything done.

With a sigh that indicated he’d rather spend all day lounging around with her without any clothes on, Radovan reluctantly rose from the floor. He gave her an honest smile and another kiss before retrieving his disheveled clothes from the floor and retiring temporarily to his quarters. When they met again their topics were far more mundane; economic considerations, trade value, market initiatives, strategic implications and planning. But every now and then he would catch a glimpse of her eyes and they would twinkle, and in spite of himself he couldn't stop smiling. For the first time in a long while, Radovan Kostović was a very happy man.

[Pargesia]

|| Talking about News ||
Kellan and Nevan discuss news in their academic strand.

City of New Strade
Ossorian-Shalumite Friendship School
Humanities Class A

-- + x |⎾⋿✖⏌| ↻ ⏏ ⚯ ✰ ⁞ https:// READING VIEW ⚯ ⍰ Anti-Corporate Corruption Measures Bill Deferred as Prime Minister Sees "No Compatible Solution" Author: Lý Trọng Nghĩa Published: 3 May 2018 Last Edited: 10 Days Ago Today, it has been announced that the Anti-Corporate Corruption Measures Bill has been deferred by Parliament after Prime Minister Han has, in a press conference, expressed that she saw "no compatible solution to an otherwise potentially beneficial legislation." The bill, which has been criticized by a significant number of members from the Nationalist, Yellow Dragon, Libertarian Union, and Natechun Parties for its set of "illicit and nonrestrictive" surveillance policies, "strict" corporate regulations, and "harsh" punishments at its first presentation, has been reviewed again and again by its authors and editors for a period of almost eight months. Although given such opportunities multiple times, the bill was filibustered by members of the aforementioned parties on the same cause once it was presented to the floor for three more times. Seeing that no more formidable policies could replace the ones that have been prime targets for rebuttals and continuous objections, despite some policies being "intuitive to the bill's purpose," the Prime Minister decided that it needs to be delayed from editing and future presentations. On the side supporting the bill, Natechun MP and one of the authors and editors of the bill Úc Nguyên Khôi makes this statement after the press conference: "There is just no way that we'll be able to get this past, given the current situation on the floor. To be honest, I am getting tired of having to revise and present it over and over again just to experience long hours of them delaying the bill's final decision and review most of the time. And to be honest, sometimes, I wonder if this bill's going to do any good at all." On the other side, Nationalist MP Ngư Khắc Tuấn makes this remark: "I really don't think what they've presented will ever work properly, despite the bill containing good measures. It's really a good thing that the Prime Minister has called for a suspension of the bill's presentation and revision, for I think those authors need to get a break from stressing out on this for long; as for some of them, they really need to reflect on how corporations function significantly for the economy before they appeal for revision." Families of the victims of the Haigia blast reacted calmly toward the Prime Minister's decision, but some of them began to express doubts about her intention on doing so. In the words of one family: "I know that there should be breaks from hard work, but if we don't get our justice soon enough, there will be more disasters like the blast that will happen almost frequently. I'm hoping that the Prime Minister will be able to do something about it in the future, but I'm starting to get uneasy at how she's handling this," says Thạch Tường Cương, father of a son who owned a restaurant near the blast area that died of his wounds. The bill maybe resurrected again once the Prime Minister has officially decided to open it up for further revising. As of now, we can only wait for a benefit of this nation to come in a matter of time.

"Continuing our daily discussion on contemporary news and issues, what can you say about this?" The Humanities Class Teacher asked, pointing at the projected screen on the board. She has given them the source material online and offline to look up and study in their mobile devices. Not to mention the fact that it is projected also, and now she expects an adequate reply and interjection from each and every student.

"News from Quenmin?" Answered one of the students in the back.

"Right, and?" The Teacher pointed at the student who replied and order, "Stand up."

"Yes...Well...'Anti-Corporate Corruption Measures Bill Deferred as Prime Minister Sees'...'No Compatible Solution'?"

"Thank you for reading the title." And the classroom giggled and ooed, "Sit down, and stand up Kellan!"

Kellan Wade Rutledge stood up in full attention. He has done reading on the article and is more than prepared to respond. It actually entertained him for a time when that boy in the back was answering with his humoring answer. An that did not entertain him, unlike his classmates, which is why he spent the attention elsewhere. And he didn't mind. He was busy trying to avoid the gaze of another boy who couldn't keep his eyes off him. And he is still busy.

"Go, Kellan!" Nevan shouted. Kellan would love to bash his head right now. How unfortunate it is to be seatmates.

"Quenmin legislature is having difficulties passing a bill on a controversial issue." It did made Kellan think...Didn't the same thing happen here in Pargesia?

"Okay, Kellan. Let's take that. Now, Nevan!" The Teacher flailed a hand at a surprised Nevan. Kellan smirked at Nevan for his sudden facial
and, perhaps even, emotional reappraisal. Whilst he didn't have the brains, he certainly had the balls to stand up.

And since he studied Kellan for the past five minutes since class began, he didn't know what to say. This ensues a minute of awkward silence. The Teacher is a patient man and a man who enjoys his students squirm for answers to his questions. His question is not even that hard but squirming is squirming and this one is the biggest of them all, not talking physically.

"Umm...Sir...May I get my phone?"

The Teacher nodded to his request. He couldn't let him waste anymore of his time. He isn't that bad though and wants this...Student to try and have a shot in this. He doesn't even understand why Nevan is here. He has a theory about that though he hasn't proven this yet. He has been suspecting with the gossips spilled by the girls in front of the class, something about Kellan and him. Questions then would be: 'Is it true?'

https://www.lookitup.com Log In PARGESIA ● Unknown - Use precise location Setting | Privacy | Terms Advertising & Business | About ⎾⋿✖⏌ ↻ ⏏ ⚯ ✰ ⁞

Nevan looked confused and another minute has passed. What is taking him so long? The Teacher got irritated at this point and asked, "What's the problem?"

Nevan scratched his temple and flashed several toothy grins, "Ah...Umm...The keyboard is not showing up."

"Try using microphone." Kellan suggested. Nevan looked at him and stared as if he was waiting for Kellan to do something. Kellan widened his eyes at Nevan and bobbed his head at him, trying to tell him to follow his suggestion.

Nevan looked back at his phone and shook his head, "Kellan, how can I use microphone if there's no microphone?"

"Sit down, Nevan," commanded The Teacher, "Remind me later to talk to your Computer Class Teacher, Mister Cenonepu."

[Pargesia]

|| Talking about Quenmin ||
A discussion gone awry, moving from "Kellan's Stalker" to an earlier discussion.

City of New Strade
Ossorian-Shalumite Friendship School
Cafeteria

"Don't pretend Kellan, we've seen you this past few nights. You have a guy sleeping with you!" Ashley exclaimed, loud enough for everybody in their table to hear but not enough for other tables to partake. Not too bad for them, there are only three in their table.

Nevan, with Ashley, pierce their glaring eyes at Kellan's shamed look. Kellan felt angry, not because he was caught, but because they were acting needlessly. They disregard his feelings. They didn't even bother to ask what's going with him and this 'guy'. They should've even talk about something so sensitive...It is something they didn't know in the first place anyway so it's...It's fine actually for them to talk about it.

Kellan mustered some courage to try and explain, "Look, I met the guy and I liked our meeting so we just...Hooked up." Plain and simple.

Simple and plain. So are the replies...

"What the fuck?" Nevan screeched, gritting his teeth at the same time. He bunched his fists and banged on the table before he just stood up and ran away from the table.

Ashley closed her eyes in disbelief. She couldn't believe this. This isn't like Kellan. He doesn't just meet and then hook up! Is he...Is he seeing a male prostitute or something? Does he get something out of this?

What could it be?

"Hey!" And it's that boy from the back of Humanities Class.

"Hatem." Kellan and Ashley greeted with not much greeting in mind. Hatem didn't care and happily took a seat.

Before Ashley could ask Hatem to leave and continue digging Kellan's brain, Kellan advanced quickly by whipping out, "Hey Hatem," a conversation, "Got any weird theories about that news on Quenmin?"

Ashley didn't understand what Kellan is trying to do. He tried this a moment before the word 'guy' was brought up by Nevan. It didn't matter since the guy was already the topic. But whatever it is, Hatem seems to be, "Yup!" enthusiastic about it.

"The Quenmin government's playing fools! They're acting. They're all in it together." Hatem said with much confidence.

Which Ashley and Kellan didn't buy as they said in chorus, "What?"

"Look, what's so difficult with passing anti-corporate corruption measures? It sounds good for Quenmin with just the title. With a powerful economy, stability shouldn't be a concern. And the discrepant provisions shouldn't be a problem by now if it has been reviewed again and again in eight months. So much time and effort has been made. And yet, nothing. They're trying to kill it. They're exhausting the debate on the bill in order to make it irrelevant to public interest. People get tired of listening and watching about something that seems to be impossible. And nobody likes a bad deal." Ashley and Kellan nodded at him, surprised that he'd even talk about with such detail. Well, Kellan's not too surprised. He knows Hatem.

Ashley then interrupted, "Woah and woah! That's just ridiculous. Don't you just think that they're really having a difficult time? Like, they're just...I don't know...Having difficulties, like what Kellan said? And eight months is just too much for pretending. You said it yourself. It's too grand an effort. Nobody in their right minds, even evil ones, would do that to kill a debate. It's hard to believe this grand conspiracy that takes months to fulfill. It's just too grand. And it's kinda stupid. Unsophisticated."

It worked. Kellan smirked and interjected, "I'd agree with both of you guys. It's likely for Quenmin government to use filibustering to keep a debate on new laws going indefinitely, and drive it wherever they want it to go. And it's also likely that Quenmin government is serious and tried utilising the filibuster to strengthen a minority bill and harness the support of the majority."

Ashley agrees, feeling a bit empty in her head. She felt she forgot something but she didn't know what.

And that kills any talks about Kellan's Stalker for the rest of the school day. Next would be Nevan. A tough nut to crack unless he's made compliant...But how?

[Pargesia]

|| Buzzboard and Chill ||
For the first time, in one day, more than half a dozen first times happened in Kellan's life.

City of New Strade
205A 41st Street

Kellan Wade Rutledge wasn't able to catch up on Nevan earlier. Even after dismissal. He really did seem down and this is the first time Nevan ignored Kellan. And out of all people, he should be the last person to be ignored by Nevan. This has taken him aback and has forced him to do what once was impossible.

Yes, he is going to send Nevan the first message to kickstart a conversation on social media for the first time.

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Nevan Conrad ● OFFLINE You hey

Press here to type message...

This is also the first time Kellan had to wait just to talk to Nevan. This is really something. He'd usually do everything he can to talk with him but now...He changed. Just because of what he and...Him. Is he that mad? Well, he shouldn't be surprised. Nevan is in love with him and it's been a love that endured for years. No surprise that any man Kellan brought in to sleep with him is going to be the cause of Nevan's hatred. However, Kellan is his own man. And he's only loved Nevan as a friend...So far. Nevan has to learn personal space. He has to respect Kellan. How could he love a man like Nevan if he couldn't do these simple things? Basic social skills goddammit.

It's been five minutes and he hasn't answered. Looks like Nevan really changed...Or so Kellan thought...

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Nevan Conrad ● ONLINE You hey Dickhead hey

Press here to type message...

For the first time, Kellan smiled at Nevan's reply. Not a smile of malice or whatnot in the line of hatred and repulsion. It was pure joy. And it was short-lived. Kellan shook the thoughts and feels out of his head and tapped away in his phone.

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Nevan Conrad ● ONLINE You hey Dickhead hey You are u still angry?

Press here to type message...

Kellan waited and he could tell that Nevan's trying to decide whether he should still hate him or not. And for the first time, a new entry in the growing list of first times today, Kellan couldn't tell what Nevan would choose. Nevan has always been an open book until now. Not because he's always open to Kellan but it's his inability to be discreet. He tends to let it all out. That's why OSFC usually gets out the locker rooms with bruises and cuts after losing to the opposing team, particularly the cocky ones who had the balls to mess with Nevan after a hard-fought game.

Not sure if the opposing team had their manhood intact though it doesn't take much looking to spot a broken football jock from another school when they came out last from the lockers. Heartbreaking and oddly satisfying.

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Nevan Conrad ● ONLINE You hey Dickhead hey You are u still angry? Dickhead yup but i cant ignore u babe

Press here to type message...

And here we go. Back in his old self. Kellan, against all odds, laughed at this. Particularly pleased to see Nevan acting like he should...And the cringe is creeping back up to him. There we go with the teeth gnashing.

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Nevan Conrad ● ONLINE You hey Dickhead hey You are u still angry? Dickhead yup but i cant ignore u babe You can we talk? Dickhead yup sure

Press here to type message...

Kellan took a deep breath, trying to take it all in, acknowledging the fact that he's gonna have some serious talk with Dickhead. Otherwise known as Nevan. And when he pushed air out of his lungs, he began...

╰★╮ B-Board < Chat Options > Nevan Conrad ● ONLINE You hey Dickhead hey You are u still angry? Dickhead yup but i cant ignore u babe You can we talk? Dickhead yup sure You i know u know that i know what u feel about me. i think that's why you're angry. you think ive been inconsiderate of your feelings, not as an admirer, but as my best friend. i told you no when you confessed back then and again after each and every year, in the same day. then i just let you do it. i couldn't stop you. you're my best friend and i really feel horrible for what i did. i don't know what came over me but is just had a rough day when it began. i needed air so i freaked out and took this guy i met at baile park. and then we ended up in my bedroom. i never thought that it would happen but it happened. so there. i hope you understand. i know you would. Dickhead sorry but i got lost in fist sentence You ... You know what You let's have a sleepover. my place. we'll need to actually talk Dickhead fuck yeah!

no sex

This is when Kellan realized that he might've made the best decision for tonight and the worst decision of all time. No need to tell which since the former can, and most likely, end up with the latter. And Kellan knew he is right.