Mont Chagrin Academy [Atlas/Invite Only;IC]

[Acronius]

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"IANUIS CLAUSIS • "BEHIND CLOSED DOORS"

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OVERVIEW

Overlooking the largest metropolis in Atlas, and overlooked by the third-tallest mountain in the Free Union, Mont Chagrin Academy's history is one shrouded in mystery. It is generally agreed that the hallowed school was founded in 1128 - predating the very concept of Acronius, although MCA has since gone through numerous restructures and expansions. Choosing to isolate itself from the rest of the world, the school's surroundings have strangely enough been the host of eighteen major battles in history, from the Aegran-Montfortian Wars to Great War II. It has consistently ranked within the best post-secondary establishments in Acronius since the 19th century, but was inconveniently quarantined from any form of civilization for thousands of kilometers, affecting its attendance. This changed in 1999, when, after forty years of construction, the sprawling streets of Defense were opened to the public, breaking Mont Chagrin's isolation from the world. Attendance requests, especially foreign, skyrocketed since, and Mont Chagrin Academy developed a status as a first-rate university, accepting students of at least 16 year olds from any documented nation.

The Free Union of Acronius is a highly-developed first-world nation in western Vaaldhaven. Mainly French culturally, albeit with a substantial English minority, French and English are the nation's official languages, and as such, are the languages of instruction at Mont-Chagrin Academy, save for language-specific courses. Acronian Francs are the national currency, with a 1.01 exchange rate to the Universal Standard Dollar. Defense, the closest city, is a sprawling metropolis of 35 million people, and the largest city in Atlas in terms of population. It lies directly south of the Academy, and is easily accessible via the Defense Metropolitan Underground Train system (abbreviated to Metro) and its sub-network of Defense Skytrain, the latter of which has a station at Mont Chagrin Academy itself. The main point of entry into Defense for foreigners is Defense Metropolitan International Airport, located in the southeast of the city. The airport and the Academy are connected via the Boundary Line on Defense Skytrain, providing a direct and simple means of transportation to the institution.

Mont Chagrin Academy boasts a complete and extensive campus sprawling over 11 square kilometers of land. It hosts numerous bars, cafés, and restaurants on its grounds, as well as numerous sports facilities including football fields, tennis courts, and a multi-purpose stadium. Students will stay in spacious dorms, which may be shared with up to three fellow students.

Map

1. Entrance
2. Mont Chagrin Academy Stadium (Football/Multipurpose)
3. Sports facilities (Tennis, Football, Gym, Swimming Pool)
4. Argyle Sinclair Institute of Political Science
5. Alexandre Thierry School of Business
6. Simon Glengary Institute of Psychology
7. Lysandre Sauvage Institute for Science and Engineering
8. Mont Chagrin Academy Skytrain Station
9. Jean Cadmus Institute of Medical Studies
10. Dorm Alpha
11. Dorm Beta
12. Dorm Gamma
13. Dorm Delta
14. Baseball park
15. Thauvin Lake
16. Chagrin Lake
17. Central Courtyard
18. Artifical Beach
19. Entertainment Zone (Bars, Cafés, Restaurants)
20. David Eustace School of Architecture
21. Lucas Bogden Center of Fine Arts
22. Benjamin Kinstler Film Institute
23. MCA Center for Studies in History
24. Thibaut Brogrose Neuroscience Institute
25. James Mundy School of Law
26. Edgar Sheridan School of Public and International Affairs

RULES

Same as Adenerov, with permission from Luey:

• Obey the OP. I promise I will not demand your soul from you
  In all seriousness, a previously-overlooked issue may pop up during sign-ups or the RP, and I may need to address it. Anything I address or prohibit that is not currently listed in the rules will be added immediately.
• Additionally, please check the OOC thread, particularly the OP, on a regular basis. The OP in particular is still a work in progress. Rules may be added or clarified and I am not necessarily able to notify everyone each time I change the OP due to the frequency with which I do it. I may also add more helpful information, and other little goodies, such as the section for the campus map that I put in during this particular edit.
• No OOC fighting. Self-explanatory.
• Avoid super short posts. Though I understand that it's hard not to write a one-liner in a particularly dialogue-heavy scene in the RP, I highly recommend that you try to flesh out your posts, instead of trying to churn out one-liners as fast as possible.
• No sexually explicit posts. It's common for intercourse, promiscuity, stripping, or whatever else to happen in most colleges; this college is not likely to be an exception, and I won't shy away from that fact. However, I will not allow posting about sex. It may be implied or hinted at, but the scenes/'sessions' may never be directly RPed.
• Yes, you may have multiple characters. Four characters max. However, I will not allow characters being RPed by the same person to room together, and I ask that those who RP multiple characters keep their characters' interactions among themselves to a minimum.
• Expulsion is a thing. I have no issue OOCly with people doing stuff that would warrant disciplinary action by the school, but keep in mind that actions still have consequences: if I have you expelled (as I will also be RPing non-instructor school staff if need be), then you may not post in the thread anymore as that character. You may, however, still RP any other characters you have. If you only have one character, you are allowed to sign up another after the first is expelled, provided the character is differentiated enough.
• Lastly, and most importantly, remember the Triumvirate. Their jimmies are eternal. None can rustle the Triumvirate.

OOC

WIP

[New Elesar]

"Anastasia, we're here. Come on, wake up!"

Anastasia grumbled awake, slowly wiping the sleep out of her eyes. Her twin sister Sofia brushed some of the hair out of her eyes before doing the same to herself. "Uh...remind me where we are again...? It was a long flight..." Sofia just laughed a little. And to think that normally this sleepy blonde in front of her was normally the outgoing one of the pair! "We're in Acronius, Stasia," Sofia said. "You know that very well. It was your idea, after all." Their father the Emperor had been somewhat reluctant, as any father imperial or not would have been, to send his two youngest daughters halfway around the world to a place he had never seen nor indeed even heard of before, but puppy dog eyes were a surefire way to get what Anastasia had wanted. Sofia had only sat back and watched as her sister convinced her father to send them away, a mixture of excitement and nervousness dominating her. That had been a month ago, and for that whole month neither of the girls could stop thinking about the journey they would have in such a new and different country. For the first time in either of their lives, they were leaving the Empire on something other than a state visit or some stuffy ballroom. It wasn't without it's downsides, though; they'd been cramped on one of the Imperial Family's jets for upwards of twelve hours, and though they'd been able to get out of their seats and walk around, some strange variation on cabin fever had begun to set in. Landing had been of quite some relief, to say the least.

A servant of theirs, a man that they simply knew as Igor, had been assigned to carry the girls' bags for them. As he began taking them down out of the overhead bins, Sofia couldn't help but feel a little bit sorry for him. Here was a man who, for as long as she had been alive and certainly even longer than that, had served her family faithfully. The pay was good, it was true, but oftentimes the work was menial and demeaning, sometimes even downright degrading, yet there had never been a servant who had quit voluntarily. But here in Acronius, once they had been settled into to their dormitory, there would be no servants. There would be no one cleaning clothes, washing dishes, or cooking meals. Here, the twins were all on their own. In a way for them both, it was a welcome change. Being a member of one of the most powerful noble families in the world was nice, but at the same time it was in its own way degrading. In a way they were like celebrities, but held to an even higher standard due to their immensely elevated social standing. Even though they were recognizable wherever they went, here in Acronius everything was so blown out of proportion that one or two foreign princesses would barely be something to even bat an eye at.

The twins followed Igor down the corridor of the plane, taking a left turn just before the cockpit and stepping into the jet bridge. They continued up the ramp and into the terminal proper, where they started their way up to customs. Sofia took one last look back at the plane that had taken them here. "Til we meet again, I suppose."

"Sofia, don't lollygag! People will stare at you!" Anastasia called from ahead. She and Igor had already reached customs, and Sofia picked up her pace a little to meet back up with them. "Sorry, Stasia. I was just lost in thought." Sofia wasn't lying of course, but she hadn't really told the full truth. She had no regrets coming here, but like any period away from home there was a little bug in the back of her mind, telling her maybe, just maybe, she'd gotten into something she wasn't really equipped to handle. Anastasia was the social one, not her. Sofia just went along with what she did and let that be that. After all, what was the point of being twins if they didn't go through it all together? Igor handed the customs officer three passports, one a plain brown but the other two a deep golden color that could only be described as being like that of a honeybee. Those were Imperial Passports, only given out to members of the Imperial Family and those deemed worthy of them by the Emperor himself. Of course, when the cameras weren't rolling, to Anastasia and Sofia this intimidating emperor was simply referred to as "Папа."

Customs was a breeze. The Imperial Passports got them through security without any trouble whatsoever. There was no touching from the guards, no rifling through purses, no nothing. Just as it should be, Anastasia thought. She, her sister, and their servant made their way to the front entrance of the airport, where a limousine had been waiting this entire time to whisk them away to Mont Chagrin Academy. Igor loaded the bags into the back of the car and opened the passenger side door, allowing both girls to get into the back seats of the vehicle before shutting the door and taking his own seat in the passenger side next to the driver. The driver slowly accelerated the car, and they were away to school. Anastasia dozed off again almost immediately, Sofia letting out a small chuckle as she did. "Silly Stasia, the only way you're going to beat jet lag is to tough your way through it. Though I suppose we won't be there for a little while, and it IS getting kind of late..." As the limousine moved onto the highway, half of its occupants had drifted off to sleep, exhausted and excited for experiences to come.

[Lupolska]

Tässä olen.

Siilva Ikitaalo gazed out her tiny window at the beautiful skyline of Defense as the passenger airliner descended towards the Acronian airport's grey tarmac adorned with lights and markings, whose purposes evaded Siilva's memory. It was the second time she had flown aboard an aircraft, though her first was far smaller; this transcontinental jumbo jet far outsized the twelve-passenger, ski-equipped biplane that had carried her and her father from the northern expanses to Noviy Muscovy almost a decade ago. This airliner seemed to be able to fly for eternity, and the flight was accompanied with hardly a tremor- in contrast to that perilous maiden voyage of hers, which rocked her 13-year-old bowels to the point of repeated vomiting. For that and for much, much more, Siilva was graceful. For Siilva had journeyed from the desolate, cold wilderness in which the pitifully small town of Suojärvi nestled itself, halfway around the world to purportedly one of the world's most prestigious academies in one of the world's most extravagant cities. It was almost a dream come true- 8 years of work and 17 years of various schooling and studying had culminated in this life-changing journey of hers, to a fine institute where she could finally pursue her long-held dream of botanical studies.

And yet, a tinge of remorse found itself in Siilva's side. But for what reason? Her father had moved to an accomodateable residence. He would be fine. Maybe it was the regret of her mother having not lived to see the day- she would've been so full of joy for Siilva. Maybe she just missed her father already.

Whatever it was, it was unimportant. For the third time in the past day or so, Siilva had to deal with the pesky airport security. The emotionless men in uniform, ruffling through everyone's luggage and sticking their nose in every which crevice for what seemed like the slightest misdemeanor - Siilva had never quite completely assimlated into modern, urban society and culture, including the extensive security in public. And so the gauntlet would begin upon exiting the plane, which had landed and pulled up to the terminal over the course of Siilva's thoughts.

Siilva looked down and grabbed the beautiful gem on the end of her necklace, which she wore over the top of her traditional Saami poncho. Her mother had given her the necklace for her fourth birthday- her last before her mother's passing. Siilva looked up, stuffing the gem inside her poncho to hide it from the ever-vigilant eyes of possible thieves. She stood up and grabbed her carry-on, in which she kept most of her close belongings, and proceeded to exit the plane, at slow walking distance amid the crowd. She would use her basic knowledge of Acronian to find her way through the airport - 'Réclamation de bagages', she remembered being told to look out for. Following that, she would be able to board a tram to the college. Much better than waiting for a taxi.

However, Siilva first had to pass through Acronian customs. The most dreadful of security lines, the customs would subject her to the most intrusive of investigations- so her father had warned. Siilva made her way to the end of the line, which stopped just short of the entry doorway, and thus waited for the line to advance.

[Tenburg]

The last time Killian MacDonald was in the penalty box, he had to be maybe twelve years old. One learns the most important rule very quickly playing the style of hockey that is played in the Republic of Tenburg: if you give it, get ready to take it the moment you’re out of the box, even if you’re a goaltender like he was. From that point forward, he focused less on hitting players and more on robbing them of glory. Of course, growing up in Crosskeys, he inadvertently became talented at both.

Thankfully, Killian wasn’t alone in the box today, watching the defense of Mont Chagrin Academy’s Acroniens fall apart in the span of fifty seconds; next to him was the instigator of the fight which landed them both in here, Sergei Antonov, a native of Elesar. Now, Sergei was not an exceptionally big or scary person in stature—six feet, average build—but by God did he know how to hit people. The six or seven shots to the face of the opposing school’s forward costed him five minutes. Killian, having used his stick creatively to prevent an opposing defenseman from getting involved, was serving a two-minute minor for tripping.

“Come on, ye wee bastards, clear the puck already!” he called to his teammates with a thick brogue. “Show some backbone for a minute, I’ll be out soon!” He sighed in disgust as one of the opposing forwards broke away and made a charge across the rink for the goal Killian should have been in. He looked over to the backup goalie, who was two years Killian’s senior, and Killian, having watched his fellow net minder in practice, could have predicted his moves with his eyes shut: he came out way too far on the challenge, and the forward fired the puck up over his shoulder, too fast for him to raise his trapper, which shouldn’t have been that low in the first place, and into the back of the net. The crowd erupted behind him and Sergei, and an air-raid siren began to sound all around them as a big red light burst to life behind the net.

Acronius took its sports seriously on every level. Even college hockey.

Killian shook his head. He couldn’t have cared less about the siren. “This fuckin’ bawbag,” he huffed as he looked to his boxmate. “A baby could be crawling towards the net from the other side of the blue line and he wouldn’t be able to stop her in time. Thank God we’re on the road.”

[Svabodnaja Bielarus]

Вось дзя--..

Well, that was a very dirty hit...at least that's what it felt like to Valiancin Iziumov, a Left-Wing forward on the fourth line of Mont Chagrin Academy's hockey team and a History major. Shortly after the Home team had scored, the fourth line was thrown onto the ice to replace the exhausted third line. Valiancin took the puck off of a opposition forward with a lucky poke-check, making the puck slide into the Center Forward's possession. They passed over the blue line and the Center returned the pass back to Iziumov, who slap-shotted it at goal...and missed by a good two inches. The puck dinged off of the boards and fell into the possession of another Acronien player, who was almost immediately pinned to the boards in a minor scuffle for possession of the puck. The puck eventually squeezed out of this pack and slid back into a Acronien defender, who skated a little to their left and passed it back to Iziumov.

However, Valiancin didn't have a clear shot as one of the largest defenders on the opposition team was bearing down on him. In a small panic, Valia passed it back to the same defender quickly. To his dismay, the defender had no time to pull away and decided to plow through Valia. Valiancin managed to say "Vos' dzia--..." (Oh sh--) before the defender flattened him out. In Bielarus, forwards are not that physical, instead they are trained to be fast skaters and excellent stick/puck-handlers, preferring fineness over brutal force. So, when the Defender had checked Valiancin it felt like a freight train had just smashed into his torso. Valia looked up at the roof of the arena, he wasn't hurt at all, but the shock factor and force of being hit on open ice had left Valiancin laying on his back, wondering what the hell just happened.

Як я сюды трапіў?

"Jak ja siudy trapiŭ?" (How am I here?) That was the question that Aksana Holovacha had been asking the entire flight over from the Bielarusian coastal city of Čyhirynka, then from the airport in Tenburg to Brytene, which finally took her to Acronius. Since Aksana was not a rich girl, even she didn't expect to be able to attend such a notable facility as the MCA. When she was younger her life seemed planned out for her already, she was definately going into the Air Force, as her skills in maths were exceptional, but she expected to spend most of her adult career in the VPSRB. Her secondary education results changed her focus however, and she saw a chance to avoid a complete life in the military. Sana had been thinking about becoming a Professional Interpreter since she turned 13, and had decided on a Foreign Language for her Major. The plane started it's descent over Coraspia, and Holovacha glanced out of her window at the horizon. Around twenty minutes later, the plane landed on the runway, jolting a bit due to some unexpected wind interference at the last moment that caused some murmuring among the passengers of Flight 614. Aksana gathered what she carried on with her, walked out in to the terminal and waited for quite a time to pass through the Acronian Customs office and other 'necessary' checks.

[Tenburg]

Killian let out a long, diving whistle as he witnessed the hit laid on Iziumov. Just then, one of the refs got his attention, opening the door for him and saying something in French; he assumed it was something like, "You can leave". He quickly put his mask back on and fist bumped Sergei as he made his way back onto the ice. The backup sprinted back to the bench, throwing himself over the wall and crashing down on the other side, much to the amusement of the fans here at Universite d'Lionsgate.

"Why didn't ye just go through the door..." Killian asked before quickly glancing up at the jumbo screens above the rink as its broadcast focused on him. He noticed the hush it brought over the crowd as they saw him. He looked at his helmet on the screen. It was covered entirely in Tennish M05 camo, but instead of the normal woodland colors, the shades of green were instead various shades of red and maroon, to match the colors of Mont Chagrin. On the crown of the mask, as well as on either side, sat the colorful roundel of the Tennish Air Force, in which he had served his mandatory year stationed at Joint Base Collins, in Zeribru, of all places. Across the bottom, in shiny gold letters, was his nickname in the service: MACK.

He heard a commotion of whistles and looked over to the other side of the rink to see that a bit of a scrap had started between Iziumov's linemates and the Flying Fleurs of Lionsgate.

"Hey, heyheyheyhey!" he shouted as he took his place in the crease to get their attention, which thankfully worked. "Leave it go! Leave it go! It's alright!" The fourth-liners, most of whom were playing hockey as walk-ons and not really in a serious way, listened to him. Thank fuck, he thought. He watched Iziumov get up slowly and leave the ice under his own power. Tough fella, he was. Small guy, but he had some heart.

The two sides met in a circle near the Lioinsgate net, and Killian could quickly register the situation: the score was now 2-1, and although Mont Chagrin was winning, it didn't feel that way while he was watching from the box. Sergei still had three minutes to serve on his fighting penalty, which meant the team's best defender was unavailable. Conclusion: he'd be doing a lot of work for the next three minutes, which were crucial, as there was only seven minutes left in this third and final period.

"Well, if ye want something done right..." he mumbled as the ref dropped the puck.

[Zoboyizakoplayoklot]

Kotyan sneered as hell ensued on the ice. That Bielarusian kid had really gotten his shit kicked in, and the typical fourth line response had followed suit. A bit of a scrap, but nothing too serious, thankfully. While line brawls were fun to watch, Kotyan knew he wasn't much of a fighter, which was odd for a Zoboyizakoplayokloti. Back home, skilled players like him were in short supply, and he had always enjoyed the protection of his personal enforcers. It was a different game in Acronius, though. Where as in Zoboyizakoplayoklot the top line would many times include a couple of brutes whose sole purpose was to smash in skulls, the tough guys generally got relegated to the lower lines in Acronius. So Kotyan, more of a sniper than anything, was going to have to play it safe. If he got in trouble, the chances of someone coming off the bench for him were relatively low, especially early on the season.

He felt a hand on his shoulder as a line change commenced, the fourth line was coming off, the puck in Lionsgates defensive zone. The coach slurred out something in French, his basic understanding of the language getting him far enough to know he was on. Still on the penalty kill, most of the first line was on the ice, and Kotyan knew it was getting to crunch time. The final period was more than half over, and unless Mont Chagrin shut the door on the opposing team there was a decent chance the game would go to overtime. Kotyan had faith in their starting goalie, as he seemed to be able to handle himself better than what Kotyan was used to back home, but even then he knew that a goalie can only do so much, especially with a D-man in the box.

Kotyan skated up to the face off circle, looking his enemy in the eyes as the ref carried the puck over. Thus far Kotyan had been killing it on the draws, especially against this pleb. The opposing center was obviously getting heated, glaring at Kotyan and clutching his stick tightly. All Kotyan did as the ref blew the whistle was smile and pull the puck back to the friendly defender, his hands almost working faster than his mind. He pivoted out to the right corner, waiting patiently as the puck moved around. He knew that it would be a good idea to move to the front of the net and set a screen, as he was relatively tall, but he decided against it. As his team passed the puck around in an attempt to kill the clock, Kotyan sized up his defender. Big and slow, he would be easy to beat, and a short handed goal would be a huge blow to Lionsgates moral. If only he could get the puck...

As the puck came to Kotyan's side, he skated up towards the Acronien defence man that was on the ice, receiving a pass which he quickly sent over to the left side to another teammate. Cutting through the middle from the top of the offensive zone he recieved the puck back, his defender light years behind him. Right in the slot, it was a perfect opportunity. Kotyan drew the puck back, aiming for the bottom corner on the goalies blocker side. He let it go with a simple wrist shot, one he had practiced many times before. He felt the world go silent as the puck slid past the goalie, and off the post with a loud twang!

"Zöndöö!" he swore as the puck slid down the ice, the play following. He had his chance for a highlight reel play, and he was going to pay for his failure surely. Even if they held off the Flying Fleurs powerplay successfully, the coach would have his ass. As Kotyan was about to skate back, he heard a voice from his right, the opposing teams center who had been eyeing him up earlier calling out to him.
"Tiens, zipperhead! Having trouble seeing the net?" the player said in a thick Acronian accent.
"Screw you kid," Kotyan responded. "The scoreboard says all I have to say to you."
The player chuckled. "Real original. Too bad your too much of a wuss to fight me."

As the opposing player skated to the bench, Kotyan back to his defensive end, he quietly acknowledged the Acronians statement as true. He was a scorer, nothing more, and it was easy to tell. It always had been, and probably always would be.

[Grozav Inima]

Luzja Balan
Mont Chagrin Academy

Luzja dropped her bags on the leather couch, and looked around the dorm, it was spacious, room enough for four people, as she would hope in a "deluxe" dorm. Yet it was still far from what she was used to, staying in world-class apartments and in veritable mansions. But it would do, Luzja wasn't really too concerned with her old creature comforts. This was for the article, life in modern Acronius, see an insider's perspective on Acronian politics, take a course in poltical science, see what the Acronians teach their children about politics, and her home country, Grozav Inima.

She really didn't know how many people would recognize who she was, surely there would be some, any other Grozyar's certainly would, but she didn't really think the Acronians knew or cared about the daughter of a president halfway across the globe.That would make it easier for her, people might hold back if they knew she was a reporter for a controversial conservative news outlet.

She seemed to be the first here, her roommates hadn't yet arrived, which would give her time to get set up n her room first. Two doors flanked either side of the living room, with a large window on the far side, letting plentiful sunlight into the room, washing over the couches, large television, and small kitchen, which consisted of little more than an oven, a microwave and a refrigerator, but it would do. Besides, Luzja had all expenses paid by the network, and would be able to essentially eat out every night if she wished.

She fell into the couch and relaxed. The flight over on one of her father's private jets was long and dull, but at least it wasn't a regular airliner. The jet lag would dissipate sooner rather than later, but it was only mid-afternoon, and she couldn't fall asleep now, no matter how much she wanted to. So she picked up her bag and began to set up in her room, and put her laptop, a powerful beast of a computer, she would use it for writing her articles, editing her videos, browsing the internet and playing her various games.

She couldn't sleep, and didn't want to do any work, so she fired up a game of Grand Theft Auto V, to kill some time before she could go to sleep.

Roman Soarescu and Katya Cheng
Defence International Airport

The two Grozyar students, both headed for Mont Chagrim Academy, both had won scholarships despite performing relatively poorly. Both however, were good linguists, one with a scholarship for English Language study in MCA, and the other with the same scholarship for French. Roman Soarescu, the fluent English speaker, and social outcast. He spent the duration of the flight alternating between being silent, and making a fool of himself, as he was want to do, especially with the opposite sex. Katya Cheng, on the other hand, a fluent speaker of French, tried to remain polite and not tell Roman how much of a babbling buffoon she thought he was.

He seemed like a nice enough person, but he spoke with the eloquence and charm of a twelve year old. It was funny and sweet in a way, but it got old quickly, and a twelve hour plane flight was way too long to sit next to him. They touched down on the tarmac, Roman looked queasy, she could tell he was doing his best to hide the terror he was feeling. The Aircraft started shuddering to a halt, and eventually slowed to a crawl on the tarmac and approached the gate.

The seatbelt light turned off, and people began to stand up and collect their overhead baggage, Katya, by the window seat, decided to wait till the rush was over so she could get her baggage without being shoved around and engaging in such a clusterfuck of people. She saw that Roman didn't agree, as he stood up to fight the massive crowd. She sighed and looked out the window at the ground, with little baggage trains scooting across the ground, ground crews at the airport scurrying back and forth.

"Are you coming, Katya," Roman said, snapping Katya out of her internal thoughts, he'd grabbed her bag as well as his own, and was holding it out for her.

"Oh, ah, thanks," she said, taking her bag.

Before she could say anything else, a man of about 30 years old said to Roman "Come on kid, people here want to get off the plane." Roman murmured something awkwardly and began to walk off the plane. Katya waited for another few moments while the last of the passengers got off, before stainding up herself and walking out of the plane.

She made her way off the plane, and as soon as she stepped into the gate, she saw Roman waiting for her. "Oh, hey Roman," she said.

"Long time no see, eh?" Roman said awkwardly.

Katya look at him quizzically "Yeah," she said.

They walked in silence to the Baggage claim, Katya found hers quickly, while Roman didn't. They had separate taxi's, thankfully. After taking her bag she turned to Roman. "Well, I guess I'll see you around,"

"Y...you too," Roman said.

[Tenburg]

“Ahhh, wonderful,” Grace said to nobody as she twirled around the main room of the luxurious apartment which her family had rented for her in the heart of Defence. She had to take another look out the massive window which took up the entire east wall. Through it, one could see a beautiful view of the city, and in the distance, the glimmering lights of Mont Chagrin Academy, where, on Monday, she would begin her education in film production. It was a beautiful thought, and a great opportunity was laid out ahead of her, albeit not quite what she would have originally wanted, and so she was excited and more than ready to follow that path.

But for tonight, she was simply too tired to think about it.

The greatest thing about living off-campus was the access to TV content no one else could get. Mother insisted on the most expensive, all-inclusive package. As Grace flopped down on the leather sofa, she grabbed the remote and began flipping through channels, reading the guide to see the descriptions, which were all in French, of course. She stopped when she came across “College Hockey” on one of the local Acronian sports networks, noticing the name of the very school she’s now attending. She couldn’t help but smile as she made her selection; if she was going to be a Mont Chagrin Acronien, she’d have to watch and support the Mont Chagrin Acroniens, wouldn’t she?

As the game came on, the announcers spoke of the Academy’s Tennish goaltender, a first-year man named MacDonald. While she herself was technically in her second year thanks to the homeschooling she received from Tenburg’s finest tutors, she immediately felt akin to MacDonald as she studied the Air Force symbols on his goalie mask.

A dark cloud came over her mind suddenly. Similarly, a frown creeped across her face.

“Lucky,” she muttered as she tossed the remote and mentally tuned out the announcers, simply watching the images on the screen.





“Cac” was the only thing that came out of Killian’s mouth as he heard the distinctive ping of the puck hitting the post. They probably wouldn’t get another shot like that short-handed, and as the play came back in his direction, he knew it was time to work.

He tightened the grip on his stick and crouched a little, watching the puck carefully. It dashed left, then right, then back left again as two Fleurs began passing it back and forth, trying to find a hole in Mont Chagrin's defense. One of them passed back to a defender and that caused the whole group to shift towards Killian, who made his way to the edge of the crease in anticipation. He shift to the left slightly, keeping square to the forward as he went for a shot going across Killian's body. Killian kicked into the ice with his left leg and slid across, stopping the puck with his leg pads. He used his stick to pass it over to a teammate, but didn't see the left forward coming in, and when it was intercepted, he had to throw his trapper up to make another save. "Shiiiiiiit." He dropped the puck and poked it towards another teammate, and they began to take it up the other way. It didn't last long, however, as one of the bumbling defensemen lost the puck, only for it to be picked up by a Fleurs forward. Killian prepared for the next flurry of bullshit as it turned into a two-on-one situation. "I got the shot!" he called out to whoever the closest teammate was and squared himself up to the forward with the puck, while his teammate covered the other. The forward was forced to make the shot himself, and tried another cross-body shot, to which Killian slid across again, angling his leg to bounce it towards a friendly forward who came screaming in out of nowhere to take the puck back up the other way. From where he was, Killian couldn’t tell if that was the same one who had tried the one-timer previous or not, but as the thundered towards the opposing goalie, he went for a more personal approach, trying a shovel, but it was bounced back at him by the goalie. He then went for a wrister, but this time the play’s fate was sealed by a poke-check from the Fleurs goaltender. He passed it back to one of his forwards and the play headed back towards Killian, much quicker this time.

Breakaway quick, in fact.

The blocking by the other four Fleurs was quite brilliant, creating a crease for the forward handling the puck to slip through into the open. The crowd came to its collective feet as he started to separate from the cluster behind him. Killian shot out to beyond the crease, about a foot and a half in front of the line, and as the blond-haired forward moved closer, he slowly slinked back towards his net, hoping to force the forward to make a decision on his shot before he was ready to. The crowd noise overcame his ears completely, but he had to maintain concentration. He had to. He spent his whole life, from neighborhood pickup games to the Tennish Youth Hockey Championship game, training and playing for moments like this. Now, here, two days before school officially started at Mont Chagrin, this moment could either justify the hype of the Acronien sports pundits, or ruin everything he had worked for.

Killian’s childhood hero, the famous goaltender named Robert Holland, put it this way: “In most sports, you know you made a mistake because the coach tells you. As a goaltender, you know because a big red light comes on, a giant horn starts blowing, and twenty-thousand people start yelling at you.”

Killian’s snap instincts kicked in as the forward went for the slapshot on his blocker side. His stick came up in what seemed like slow motion, and he could distinctly feel the puck crash into the wood, sending vibrations all the way down his right arm before his knees came down onto the ice. At least, he thought it was his knees; it might have been his ass. He wasn't really sure. He just knew he was sliding backwards.

A unanimous “OH!” by the Lionsgate crowd snapped Killian out of whatever trance he was in, and he immediately found the puck close to him on the ice and pounced on it with his trapper. As play was blown dead and he stood himself up, he could hear the forward cursing to himself in many different languages, and one of his teammates came over to calm him down as a smile rolled across Killian’s face. The smile only grew bigger as the penalty box gate opened again. Killian now had his best defenseman back

And he looked angry.

[Zoboyizakoplayoklot]

"Ta davs öngörökh üü chadakh uu? Pourriez-vous s'il vous plaît passer le sel?"

Saran sat cross legged on an alley seat of the plane as the descent finally came to an end. It had been a very long flight across the Ocean to Acronius, and Saran had been indulging herself in reviewing the French language for most of the way over. She had been confident in her abilities when she first arrived at the airport, but as soon as she saw the Zobik-French audiobooks for sale she began to have a panic attack. Did she know enough French to live in Acronius for an extended amount of time? Would her knowledge of English be enough to get her by? So she calmed herself down, as she always does, bought the CD, and managed to have a tranquil flight over. Deep down, beneath all the nerves, Saran was extremely excited to be studying abroad. She had her worries, yes, but she knew this was an opportunity she might not ever get again. She would get to meet new people, tour a nation that was almost nothing like her own, and hopefully have some fun. Hopefully. Between academics and school sports, Saran wondered if she would actually have much time for social activities, with her desire to go to parties and such events being a question in itself. She would play the cards as they were dealt to her, she ultimately decided. If she felt that she absolutely despised her peers, her schooling and athletics would take first precedence. However, should she feel unchallenged by the true reasons of going to school, she might mingle around and have a few drinks on occasion. While going to boarding schools in Zoboyizakoplayoklot, she had never done anything of the sort, barely even leaving her dorm. But this might be different. Clutching her charm necklace, supposedly imbued with a lucky essence by her hometown shaman, Saran hoped that Mont Chagrin would be what she had made it out to be in her mind. A place where she could finally be free.

"Excuse me miss, but could you please take off the headphones? We are about to land and would like your full attention." A flight attendant said kindly, interrupting Saran's train of thought.
"Yeah, sure. No problem." Saran responded. While Saran tried her best to seem nice, she didn't appreciate the attendant calling her out. Feeling like everyone was staring st her, Saran put her head down. "I just want to get out of here," she muttered in Zobik to herself.

Meanwhile, a few rows up...

"Truly remarkable! A vein of diamond ore, ten blocks in total! Look at this! Look!"
Ferenc held out the iPad to the man sitting next to him, a childish grin on his face. For the course of the ten and a half hour flight to Defense from where Ferenc had been staying in Zoboyizakoplayoklot, the Acronian businessman who was unlucky enough to have a seat next to Ferenc had become enlightened on all the things that mattered to Ferenc. Or he would have, had he actually been paying attention. Ferenc had rambled on about all the new anime, the spawn rates of different mobs and blocks in Minecraft, and advanced mathematics. It was all highly interesting to Ferenc, but not anyone else. He had quite enjoyed the long plane ride, mostly because of the fact that the person he was talking to couldn't just get up and leave like they normally did.

For Ferenc, life had been going in an upwards spiral over the course of the past couple years. He went from going to school for six hours, working for eight in a sweatshop, and then going home, to going to school for six hours, then going home and using his computer for as much as he liked. All thanks to that one rich Zoboyizakoplayokloti. Ferenc had gotten his attention after getting 99.3% in his Grade 12 calculus class when he was in Grade 10, and as a result, he was given a full sponsorship. Anything he wanted, Mr. Zabong would get for him. A new home amongst the "government residences" in Vizold? Yup. Two brand new iPads and a new gaming computer? He got it. A personal nurse for his mother and a years tuition at a school in Acronius. Easy. And all Ferenc had to do was feature in some grocery commercials and interview with some magazines. Mr. Zabong got his approval ratings and good reputation back, and Ferenc got to live like a member of the Agualadosan Politburo. A win-win situation. In Ferenc's mind, Mr Zabong was almost as great as Tamati Jakab, the only thing separating them being Jakab's dedication to the proletariat revolution, and the fact that Mr. Zabong was a Zoboyizakoplayokloti capitalist pig.

Prior to boarding his plane for Mont Chagrin, Ferenc took one last trip to Wavaxangrad, where he said his goodbyes to Mr. Zabong, was interviewed by some psychologists (probably for Psychology Today), and sent on his way, but only after buying tree bags of kettle corn at the airport. That place was great. It was almost better than the local playground where Ferenc had grown up around. The only bad thing about the airport was the security. When Ferenc tried to take some young child's fudge bar, the security gave him a time out until his flight arrived. A true shame. If Mr. Zabong had been there, maybe the child and security guards could have been sent to Agualados and punished by Tamati Jakab. Mr. Zabong could do things like that. Probably.

As Ferenc contemplated the prospect of him, Mr. Zabong, and Tamati Jakab all playing Roblox together, he was rudely interrupted by a flight attendant, coming his way from farther down the aisle.
"Excuse me sir, but could you please put the game away? We are about to land and would-"
"NO!" shrieked Ferenc. "Not yet! I've got a mojo going, and if I stop, I might forget to put my beef in the furnace!"

As the whole plane looked down the cabin, expecting to see a young boy and not an eighteen year old university student, a few snickers were heard. The attendant sighed. She had seen enough kids like this to know it would be best to let him be. The chances of his game causing the plane to crash were nonexistent anyways. It was just protocol.

It took maybe five more minutes for the plane to land, and Saran and Ferenc both unloaded into the airport alive and well. A hockey game played on a TV screen in front of the gate, and Saran took note of the fact that Mont Chagrin was playing. She stopped and watched for a brief moment before continuing on to wherever she could find a taxi. As for Ferenc, he ran off in the direction of the kettle corn. He'd find his way to school eventually.

[Valdiu]

admenestr8r toben lukd aot de windo. akrusz de plaza, stj00dintz, mileng abaot, peprd e landzkaep liek kaen fl00t mon peprd hiz f0l0erz. "oy vey!" he sed. he had nut begun 2 riet hez opening dei sp33ch!

huriedli, he witrj00 frum his lung stef desk hiz best wroiting penz nd sum hevi, lietli scentid stashuneri. it wuz tradishun 2 du et lliek dis - ebn sinc lung b4 he had bekum administr8r ob mt shaggin six bazjilliyun y33rz ago his predesesur, a misteriyus man noen onli as fadur cyd, had writn hiz szpeechz in exotic kaligrafiez lietly purfy00md wit de 2006 klaszik "derk". wiel mr tobin perszunali prefurd odr werkz by de saem kre8r - hiz faborite bein "kloroform" - mr toben wuz an man ob tradishun. he set hez pen 2 de papur. hiz moind wurld wit witicizmz, lakonizms, rejoindurz, de b mobie skript, and pikshurs ob bil klintun. he wroet wit intenzity, his pen floiing liek an l0nmowr on de paej az de thik, blak lienz emurjd. behoind hem, moar nd maor stj00dentz began 2 popul8 de plaza, kris-kruzzing de coblstoenz on haesty toorz ob de kampuz b4 hez 4pm adresz.

he had ben wroiting 4 a gun 103 minutz wen he gaezd daon on hez finul prudukt.

"gudfuk," he thot. he foild awei de sp33ch in de trash kan nd w0lkd aot on2 de kampusz 2 mingl wit de nj00 st00dentz. evenshuali he faond hemzelf in de br0tizlab memoriul my00zik bilding, wer de jaz band wuz rehursing 4 de dei'z openin kunsurt. de mt shaggin jaz orkestrbruh wuz knon az de "valdian klub", d00 2 de hi pursentej ob vladj00ianz der - wurldwied, jaz wuz liek an vladj00ian nashunal hobi. in mr tobinz mind, dat ment ebri1 but de vladj00ianz wer unkulchurd swien. and mr toben wuz alweiz riet. al de grilz olweiz went 4 memburz ob de jaz band b4 aniwun elz. the direktur wuz an man naemd yorick mem, but akording 2 him, "my frendz, n st00dntz, kall me yor."

he sat in de praktis r00m, listeneng 2 dem rehurz we r numbr 1 until et wuz purfekt. "oy vey!" he said. "im l8 4 mwoj speech!"

he arievd in frunt ob de kraodz. "ghello," he sed. "i am admenestr8r toben, yuor akademy admenestr8r. frum nao on, yuo wil onli sp33k wen spoekn 2, nd de furst n last werdz aot ob yuor filthi s00wurz wil b "sur!" du yuo magetz undrztand dat?"

"sur yus sur!" de st00dintz reploid in yunisun.

"bulshet! i kan nut h33r yuo. saond off liek yuo hab got an paer," said toben.

"sur yes sur!" de st00dentz sed, laodr diz tiem.

"if yuo l8deez leeb mwoj ilund, if yuo surbieb akademik tr8ning... yuo wil b an pepprr. yuo will be an ministr ob ani, prein 4 pingl. but untel dat dei yuo r py00kz! yuo r de loest lief form ob lief on atlus. yuo r not ebn hy00min fukkin beingz! not az if datz new 4 de grozavs heer kek. yuo r notin but unorganoizd grabasztik piecz ob amfibien shet! bekuz i em stif yuo wel nut liek me. but de moar yuo wel lern. i em stif but i em faer. der iz no rashul bigutri heer. i do nut luk daon on elezariunz, grozabz, zoboyizakowatebrdefuki, or kroznianz. heer yuo r al ekwuli wurthlez! nd mwoj ordurz r 2 smoek weed aot al nun-pepprrz hu du nut pak de g33r 2 studi in mwoj beluvd akademi! du u magetz undurztand dat?"

"sur yus sur!" dei sed.

"gud. dizmiszd."

diz ez goin 2 b an gud yeer.

[Kwadai]

Reem had been to Acronius on two occasions previous to this one, albeit those hadn't been for as long as this one would be. This time was different in more than duration, now she was going to be living in the country while she attended the Mont Chagrin Academy to further her education. From what she already knew, this was a very prestigious institution attended by royalty and family of some of the world's biggest names. Reem was neither, but daughter of one of the leading managers in the Kwadaian Central Bank was hardly a minor position, just not as well known. But it was that position she had been so eager to get away from. Her father was obviously not thrilled with Reem's chosen study area, but he came around and accepted it, knowing that it was what she really wanted.

Only yesterday she had been seated in the Imperial Arab Airways plane en route to Defense from Tripoli. She had flown business class since it was a one way flight and because she had wanted a nice start to her new life. That she certainly got, not even the overnight tropical storm and turbulence while flying off the coast of Auchoi phased her. Many people loathed the thought of turbulence, yet to Reem it was actually exciting. Flying during the night was nearly always great too, even if it meant arriving in your destination at an ungodly hour, like was the case with this one. Thankfully, security was not an issue. "The advantages of having good relations with other countries", she had told herself as she had passed through passport control the night before. For a country that had ruled her own for over two centuries, the similarities were on the low side. Apart from the modernity and advanced technology there wasn't much other comparisons that could be made on first glances. Here she had spotted outlines of towering mountains, fields and lakes made visible by the faint glimmer of sunrise on the horizon on the approach into Defense.

The city of Defense itself was larger than any other city she had been to (which was many, around the world). On the other when she left Kwadai as the sun was setting it was a much different setting. Tripoli had a modern dazzling skyscraper clad visage but it was by no means as large as a Defense and the only thing visible for kilometres was sand, dust, date palms or the sea. In other words: man-made beauty. A fragment of imagination and wonder to some, fake and superficial to others. Either way, as much as Reem loved Kwadai, travelling was always a pleasure as well as an experience. It was nice seeing French on the signs around the airport, those were long gone in Kwadai. Luckily she could speak French, though she had no doubts that nearly everyone would speak at least decent English. She also was hopeful that her appearance would come off a little less shocking here, despite Kwadai being more relaxed than other Arab Muslim nations, her silver grey hair and unique style was frequently the subject of stares at home.

Now she was on her way out for a brisk walk around the campus, with her ever present camera, it was always enjoyable to do that, there was a hockey game being played somewhere too, but sports had never really been her strong point, unless she were to take pictures as a source of inspiration from some currently nonexistent project. It didn't take her long to leave her from and out into the fresh air, she still hadn't fully explored the area. How could she? It was too large and she had only been here for less than a day already.

[Tenburg]

Sergei scanned his eyes around the ice slowly, then turned towards the opposition as he reached up to his nose and shot out a booger, which froze instantly upon hitting the ice. He slowly backed toward Killian as the first line returned to the ice with their now-freed linemate and began to assemble for another faceoff.

“Kept you waiting, huh?” He said with a grin. “Nice save.”

“Nice snot, booger brain,” Killian replied with a shake of the head. “Can ye keep yourself out of the bloody box for three minutes?”

“I’ll try… no guarantees.”

“Riiiiiiight.”

Killian readied himself as the ten players formed up, with the Zoboizakoplayokloti fellow squaring off against the blond-haired forward Killian robbed not moments ago. The Acronien mumbled something to the Fleur, nodding in Killian’s direction, and the Fleur responded with an aggressive stealing of the puck on the faceoff.

“Where the fuck’s the penalty?” Killian called as he followed the puck with his eyes, watching Sergei charge it and force the forward to the outside, then back into the right corner. Killian pressed himself against the right bar, and watch as Sergei smashed the Fleur against the boards, took the puck with ease, and passed it up to Killian.

Killian took the puck and turned back around, using his trapper to wave one of the Acronien forwards to the left a little, then passing it to him. “Get goin’, get goin’!” As Sergei went past him, he looked back to watch the Fleur forward coming towards him, and Killian may or may not have leaned out a little bit with his shoulder to knock the forward off his feet again. This of course, solicited a reaction from the crowd, but Killian simply shrugged at them; if the ref didn’t see it, it didn’t happen.

The Fleur sneered something at him in French, but seemingly knew better than to mess with him. Killian’s eyes moved back towards the scene at the other end, knowing that they didn’t have much time left to take advantage of the brief five-on-four situation he had granted them. Sergei once again checked a Fleur who had briefly taken back the puck, and he passed it to a forward, who whipped it immediately to the Zoboyizakoplayokloti. Then, that guy hit the puck with so much force that Killian could hear the smack clear from the other end of the rink. It sounded more like a home run than a one timer, and it was simply too fast a shot for the Fleurs netminder to react. The score was now 3-1.

This score was greeted with a similar unanimous “OH!” that came as a result of Killian’s most recent save. As the other five hugged it out in the corner, Killian simply waved at the fans in a poo-poo sort of manner. “Shut up, you lot!”

The rest of the time was spent playing a near-mocking game of keep-away, and the Acroniens walked out of Lionsgate—and onto a charter plane back to Defence—with their first win of the year.

[Grozav Inima]

Roman Soarescu
Dormitory, Mont Chagrin Academy

In the Dorm's common room, Roman seemed to have been the first to arrive, he had already set up the small amount of things he brought with him in his room. Now he sat, with a beer on the table ahead of him and a joint in his hand, which was apparently legal in this country, unlike back home, the first pleasant surprise of the trip. He was idly watching some braindead cartoon on Acronian television, unfortunately he barely spoke any French, and only spoke English, so he was resigned to just reading the English subtitles. Not that it really mattered, he was barely paying attention.

He thought of Katya, the Chilokveri girl he met on the plane over, she was really sweet, but she brushed him off totally, as had most girls he'd been interested in. He took another puff on the joint, there were other girls after all, and this was a new country, with new girls, and plenty of them. If what he heard about Acronian girls was even half accurate, Katya and the other stuck-up Grozyar girls would be nothing more than a distant memory.

He swapped the channels to find if there were any in English, he eventually found a channel playing some movie in English. It was some blockbuster full of explosions, car chases, and scantily clad actresses, so all he could've hoped for right then. He turned the volume up and leant back on the couch, resting his feet on the coffee table. He heard a quiet knocking on the door.

"Come in," he said, before returning his attention to the television.

The door knocked again.

"Come in, you stupid Kurva!" he said, louder.

Another knock.

"Baszd meg!" he swore under his breath. He stood up, and grabbed his beer as he made his way to the door. He opened it, and said tiredly in a heavily accented English. "Yes, what you want?"

[Zoboyizakoplayoklot]

Kotyan Ukilen
It was one hell of a save, that's for sure. After Kotyan had ripped it off the post the Fleurs had gotten on a breakaway, despite his best attempts to catch up with the play. The Fluer had shot the puck on the goalies blocker side, with Killians stick stopping the puck in a feat that Kotyan thought to be both skill and luck. And now, with the game at even strength again and Sergei back on the ice, Kotyan was looking for redemption. He skated anxiously over to the face off circle, with the same player who called him a zip waiting for him.

"Don't open your mouth." the Fleur said. "The smell of cats makes me barf."

"Shut your trap." Kotyan sneered. "The reason you're losing is cause your whole team drinks wine on the bench. You probably see two of our goalie and don't know where to shoot," he said while gesturing to Killian.

The Fleur opened his mouth to say something, but decided it was in his best interest not to. The ref skated up to the circle as was routine, dropping the puck, the Fleur snagging it from under Kotyan's nose. The legality of the faceoff was debatable however; some witnesses noticed a purple and yellow glove get shoved into Kotyan's face as the puck was drawn back, but no call was made. That didn't matter though. Soon after claiming possession of the black rubber, a red and gold blur came out of nowhere, slamming the Fleur into the boards in an entertaining display. The defenceman responsible, Sergei, passed the puck back over to the goalie, who in turn passed it up the ice to the left winger. Kotyan skated hard up the center of the ice, watching in dread and then glee as the puck was briefly stolen, only to be taken back by Sergei. One hell of a player, that guy was.

Now in the offensive end, Kotyan watched patiently as the puck was passed around, eventually working its back to the left winger.

"Yeyeyeyeah!" Kotyan called, tapping his stick in the ice. The puck moved his way, and Kotyan lifted his stick up, briefly glancing at the position of the goalie before the puck reached the right spot. Dropping to his knee as he brought his stick down, catching the perfect amount of puck and ice, Kotyan ripped the puck through the goalies five-hole. It was a shot he had practiced in his yard with his siblings many times, and had become an important part of his arsenal over the years. Grinning as the goalie dropped to his knees much to late, Kotyan performed his signature celebration. Remaining on his knees, he mocked the loading of a sniper rifle, scanned his surroundings, and fired in the direction of his goalie. It certainly was a cocky move, but it was all for show.

Skating back to the bench as the home crowd sat silently in disappointment, Kotyan knew the game was won. They'd play keep away for the rest of the game, a comfortable plane ride awaiting the Acroniens.

Saran Nekan
"This is your spot miss. That'll be nine Chromes."

Saran forked the money over, a single ten digit banknote with some old Acronian politician on the front. She thanked the driver and let him keep the change, turning around to face the main entrance of Mont Chagrin. It was a stunning building. She didn't know much about architecture, but she found the style of the building to be more appealing than those in Zoboyizakoplayoklot. It stood like a bastion of regality, the massive mountain looming over it from behind. Taking a deep breath in, she approached the door.

As she walked up passed the parked cars of faculty members and loitering students, her mind began to wander. How were her parents? She'd have to call them once she unpacked. Her dad was getting old, and wasn't quite able to work the mines as well as he used to. As for her mother, she worked at a convenience store on the corner of the street they lived on. She enjoyed the work, but made only half as much as her father. Saran knew they could handle themselves, as they had all the other times she had been away for school, but that was just the kind of person Saran was.

Entering the building, she walked over to the front desk, where a short lineup had accumulated. It took maybe five minutes for Saran to get to the front of the line, a plump Acronian woman kindly greeting her in both French and English.

"Hi, uh, I was just wondering if you could tell me where to find my dorm?" Saran asked.

"Ah, Saran Nekan, correct? We've been expecting you. Here's your card, which should give you all the information you need to find your way." Grabbing the card, Saran was just about to ask her how she knew who she was, but the attendant read her mind first.

"Sorry, but you're kind of the only Zoboyizakoplayokloti female student enrolled currently. Just a lucky guess I suppose. NEXT!"

A bit shaken from being picked out like that, Saran went on up to her room. She thought about taking the stairs, but the jet lag forced her to take the elevator. It was quite crowded filled with kids and their bags all heading up to their dorms to start the year. Speaking in flurries of French. Saran managed to eavesdrop a little. Just some talk about the hockey game. Not about her, thank god.

Getting off on her floor, Saran walked down the hallways, glimpsing into passing dorms and the sight of other girls unpacking. They all seemed to be getting along. And all there. What if she was the last to arrive to her dorm? That wouldn't be good.

Finally reaching the dorm specified on her card, Saran knocked nervously. After no response came, she unlocked the door with her key, revealing a mostly empty room, a few sets of beds, dressers and a TV being the only pieces of furniture. As she was the first one there, Saran sat down, deciding she would just wait for her roommates to arrive to decide on beds and such. She took a few minutes to relax, scrolling mindlessly through the explore page of Instagram when a knock cosmetic on the door.

"Come in," Saran called out, the door opening.

Ferenc Veres
The tourists on the bus were not having a good time.

They had signed up for a relaxing journey through the city of Defence, where they'd get to stop at significant historic and cultural sites. They'd take some pictures, the guide would give them a brief rundown of the place, and then they'd move on. The concept was overall quite enjoyable, and the weather was nice out, which made it even better. However, the guide was continually interrupted by Ferenc, his hysterical laughter (caused by the sub-par comedy of Minecraft machinimas) creating large amounts of annoyance for the passengers. On top of that, every tranquil moment was ruined by the noise of smacking lips and crunching kettle corn, which Ferenc hastily carried three bags of. The passenger in front of him, a middle aged HR worker from Chazicaria who was touring Atlas after he had won the lottery, became victim to soggy shrapnel whenever Ferenc happened to laugh at the same time he was chewing.

Ferenc was oddly oblivious to his public embarrassment. His videos kept him occupied, only looking up from the screen to make sure he hadn't missed the stop at Mont Chagrin. He worried that at the rate it was taking him to arrive he would run out of kettle corn, but he figured he could get Mr. Zabong to mail him some whenever he wanted. Considering how great Mr. Zabong was, his grocery stores probably had kettle corn that was twice as good as the stuff from the airport.

"And now folks, we arrive at Mont Chagrin Academy." The guide said over the PA. "A highly prestigious institution, it is generally agreed that the hallowed school was founded in 1128 - predating the very concept of Acronius, although-"

"STOP THE BUS," Ferenc shrieked. He stood up right as the bus lurched, spilling half a bag of kettle corn on the poor Chazicarian in front of him. Not paying any attention to the furious man who was just trying to escape his uptight wife and bratty kids with a trip around the globe, Ferenc trotted up to the front of the bus, where he unsuccessfully rattled on the door.

"Open it. Now." He said to the guide, who stood, mic in hand, with an astonished look on his face. It was his first day on th job, and if he knew he was going to have to deal with people like Ferenc, he wouldn't have taken it.

"I'm sorry sir, but this bus isn't for transport. You'll get let off when we arrive back at the Visitors Center, where you got on."

"Fine. You want to do this the hard way? We can do this the hardway." Ferenc said as he reached into his pocket, pulling a black object out from it. The passengers of the bus wailed, ducking behind their seats. The Chazicarian was the only who didn't cower. He had nothing to live for anyway. In fact, he was severely disappointed to see that it was just a wallet. Ferenc rummaged through it for a minute, eventually pulling out a green and white gift card for Arik's Grocers Incorporated. He handed it to the guide who stood confused. While Mr. Zabongs grocery chain was huge in Auchoi, it had a single store in all of Vaaldhaven, and the guide had never even heard of the place.

"That card holds the worth of one hundred Zoboyizakoplayokloti Rupees, for all your grocery needs. Now take the bribe and let me off. That's the way it's supposed to work."

Deciding that Ferenc wasn't worth the trouble, he was let off the bus, where he blissfully walked up to the entrance, listening to his playlist of Minecraft and Roblox parodies, singing the lyrics loudly. He continued to sing once he entered the lobby, garnering a few odd looks. He got his dorm number from the attendant at the desk, and headed up the stairs.

Arriving at the door of his dorm, Ferenc was actually quite nervous about his roommates. Would they let him hang up his Tamati Jakab posters? Would they be able to rival his superior intelligence? Realizing that there was only one way to find out, Ferenc knowcked on the door.

No answer.

He knocked again. No answer. Hearing the noise of a television set, Ferenc knew someone was in there. Thus, he pounded as hard as he could, and at last the door was opened. Upon seeing the man who had opened the door up, Ferenc immediately looked up at the dorm number to make sure he was at the right place. He was, and he almost wanted to scream.

The guy who opened the door was easily identifiable as a member of the Grozyar imperialist race, which Ferenc knew was full of barbarians thanks to Tamati Jakab's education programs. The ones living in Agualados had been enlightened by the Communist Party, but those from the Grozyar homeland were pure swine. He also held a roll of the devil's lettuce in his hand, which only made matters worse.

"Yes, what you want?" The Grozyar asked impatiently, the ghastly smell of the marijuana wafting into Ferenc's face.

Not wanting to deal with this, Ferenc barged through the door, dropping all his gear on the first available space. "My name in Ferenc Veres. I have come here on a scholarship paid for by the great Arik Zabong. In my spare time I play Minecraft, Roblox, and attempt math equations. I hail from the glorious land of Agualados, which I'm sure you know one thing about. I'd also appreciate it if you would not smoke that within at least ten feet of me. It can get be in your system for up to three months, you know."

[Airacizahc]

Central Courtyard

Motin Chargin.

Munt Changir.

Mon Charig.

These western names were difficult for the cultured, learned Ahmed Ahmadinejuan. In his native tongue, words were beautiful and incorruptible by the filthy capitalist, infidel pig dogs of the decadent West.

But, having sworn upon his father's favorite snow camel's largest testicle that he'd learn the ways of the West to better bring Jihad to them, Ahmed knew he would have to steel himself to the inferior culture. He would have to do something his father always wanted- he'd have to be a good boy.

He'd pass his classes, do community service, pray to Allah, not form a Harem (unless it was consensual), and might even have to pretend to respect his peers. The weeks he spent in Airacizahc's most prestigious acting school would hopefully have taught him all the skills necessary to perform these tasks. By year's end, the young boy would be a premier, model student envied by all of his classmates for his grades, social following, and faith in Allah.

Skittles and tea in hand, the area devoid of any uppity vigilantes, Ahmed proceeded to finish his scouting miss- jolly walk around the park before heading back towards his dormitory, wherever it was.

In fact, it occured to Ahmed that he had no idea where he was supposes to sleep tonight, though he assumed he'd likely just guilt some gullible rube into letting him sleep in their dorm if he really needed to. White people were so easily manipulated.

If only he knew the dangers.

[Tenburg]

[NOTE: the top scene was written by three authors at once, so as to avoid multiple one-line posts]

Mont Chagrin Academy, Dorm Gamma

Killian sipped slowly on the cold lager as he glanced out the large window of the common room, which looked out over the bright campus of Mont Chagrin Academy. It was half past ten on a Saturday night, and he was looking to raise some hell like a proper Tennsman. Sergei, his roommate, and Kotyan, whom Killian had invited back to their dorm for beers after they had showered and gotten briefed by their coach on the next week’s schedule (which included a Tuesday night away game and the home opener on Friday night), were all sitting together, knocking back brews and trying to figure out a plan for the next few hours; they couldn’t just sit around all night, not when they could be scouting out the talent!

“I mean, I haven’t really had a shot to see the campus proper; like I’ve no idea what’s where or any o’ that shit,” he said, putting back another chug of his beer. “Either o’ you have any ideas? Where would the bitches be at this time o’ night?”

Kotyan shrugged. "Heard some place over on 14th might’ve got something going on."

"I mean there's so many spots around here." Killian tossed back the rest of the can of beer, crunched it together in his hand, tossed it, and pulled another from the box. "I just don't wanna end up in some sketchy fuckin' place." He pulled out his phone and began searching about with relevant keywords; namely 'Mont Chagrin', 'bars', 'clubs', etc. Incidentally, the same street Kotyan mentioned offered up one place in particular, which seemed to be specifically for Mont Chagrin students. The name was something in French, so he couldn't pronounce it or even begin to, so, after cracking open his new beer, he showed Kotyan his phone.
"That look right?"

Kotyan belched as he downed the can. "Should be. Reliable source I got it from."

Killian raised an eyebrow. Reliable source? What is this guy, a spy? "Who's yer source?" he joked, knocking back a healthy chug. He looked to his roommate, who had been quietly drinking his own few beers. "Oi bollocks, you've been awfully quiet!"

Sergei looked at his friends, a little confused. Why make it such a big deal? As long as the place served drinks that weren't invented for middle-aged women trying to relive their 20's, he was fine with it.

Kotyan smirked, thinking back to how his mom had made a list of places he wasn't supposed to go to. She was a smart lady, and if she did her research it's likely this place was somewhere he wanted to go. "Just a friend."

Killian nodded. That was an acceptable answer; he'd heard that enough times in the service to know that it generally means, "don't prod any further.".
"Alright, sooo... let's finish these up, hitch a ride over and see what happens, aye?"

"Right with ya"

Sergei nodded. "Sounds like a plan."


Downtown Defense

Grace continued to watch the sports channel for a few hours after the game had ended. She had always enjoyed sports, though without getting totally invested in them, unlike those in the north of Tenburg. In the South, things were much more refined; people were politer, conversation was more proper, and sports was a subject of light-hearted small-talk. Up north, sports were more important to some people than the politics of Port Royal, even though she had found something worth paying attention to, even in the smallest of news bytes to come from the Tennish capital.

Ah, but she had come to Acronius to escape all of that. Though, while it was a Saturday night, she was simply too tired to go out. So, she activated her Bluetooth music player, which paired itself with the stereo speakers that were scattered throughout the house. “Play old jazz,” she said, and as Chuck Dorsey and his orchestra began to serenade her with “Stroll in the Moonlight,” she went to the fridge and opened a bottle of white wine. She decided that tomorrow, she would go to the academy tennis courts, and see if perhaps she could find someone to play a few rounds with her. But tonight, she would simply have a few drinks, then go to sleep.

A thought crossed her mind, however; it would be a bit of a waste of a beautiful night, for one. On top of that, she didn't have to go absolutely crazy: there was a pub frequented by Tennish expats close to the river. She nodded to herself, finished her glass of wine, and went to get herself ready.

[Svabodnaja Bielarus]

...Яшчэ адна ноч без сну.

It was early in the morning, Valiancin, who was one of the Radar Technicians (RT) aboard the Bielarusian cruiser 'Biespamylkovy', had just woken up in the barracks closer to the rear of the ship. Valiancin had been serving on the guided missile cruiser ever since he had finished training at Čyhirynka Naval Recruit Training Facility. He sat up and put a hand above his head so that he didn't hit it against bunk above him. Valia slipped out of the bunk, changing into his Naval 'work uniform'. His first order of business was to head to the mess-hall to get his morning meal, crudely mashed potatos and something that passed as scrambled eggs. The Radar Technician's relatively quiet breakfast was interrupted by a hard clap on the back. Valia turned and looked up to see the beaming face of a fellow sailor by the name of Kaciaryna Paškievič. "Dobraj ranicy, durny" she said, moving around the table to sit across from him.

"Dobraj ranicy..." Valiancin muttered, playing with his eggs absent mindedly. The young short-brown haired woman smirked a bit and cocked her head to the side, crossing her arms across her stomach.

"Are you gonna be ready for today?" Kaciaryna inquired.

"If the radar is 'knocked out'? Then yeah, more or less" Valia replied. Kaciaryna was a newer Weapon Systems Operator (ZSA) for the Biespamylkovy, having been a transfer from the destroyer 'Kabryn'. The Bielarusian Navy was conducting drills off of Bielarus' southern-most territory, dangerously close to the Empire of Elesar. These controversial drills were met by an already weary Bielarusian population, who were only too aware of the power of the Elesarian military. Valiancin had a mere nine months left of service before his conscription period was up, and he was already planning his future once he had gotten out. Valia stared down at his food, before putting down his fork and getting up, Kaciaryna raised an eyebrow and stood up as well.

"Not hungry, Valia?" At this, the RT shook his head and walked out of the mess hall; heading topside, followed by the ZSA.

"What're you nervous?" She asked, still in her light and playful tone.

"A little" He replied, heading towards the Radar stations towards the stern of the ship. He couldn't quite explain why he was nervous, or why he had no appetite today, it just felt...off for some reason. Valia ran a hand through his short hair nervously. The Bielarusian Navy had conducted many drills before this, but it was the first time that the Navy was practicing on 'target ships', old ships that Bielarus had inherited control of when they won their independence in 1987. Ships that had not been converted into museum ships or had not been scrapped were being requisitioned by the Navy for drill purposes. Kaciaryna opened her mouth to speak again, but the ship's 'General Quarters' Alarm started to sound. The ZSA then turned in her place and rushed to her station, Valiancin stepped into the radar station and looked around. In these situations he was in charge of tracking surface based targets, he sat in a chair that displayed various pieces of information. A crackled voice came from the bridge into the station.

"Send co-ordinates of possible enemy vessel contact" Valiancin went about tuning the radar and staring at the screen, waiting for the Biespamylkovy's target: the old 1940s era Elesarian Battlecruiser 'Kontr-Admiral Valierkievič', named after a Imperial-loyal Bielarusian Counter-Admiral who served in the Elesarian Navy. Finally, a long blip started to flash on the screen, Valiancin picked up a phone and radio'd into the bridge.

"Target, Siektar V92035 South South-East. Repeat, Siektar V92035 South South-East." Another alarm started to sound as the ship turned and opened it's missile pods. Then the ship rumbled as a anti-ship missile launched from the pods and flew up into the air. The missile struck true, directly in the middle of the old ship and splitting it right down the middle. The crew wanted to celebrate, but the strict regulations set by the Bielarusian Naval High Command barred them from un-regulated activities during drills, to simulate a real combat environment. Everyone remained at their post, fixated on their various tasks. A fellow RT, Vitaĺ Cviatany, leaned a bit closer to his monitor and beckoned Valiancin over quickly.

"I-Iziumov! Come here quickly!" Valiancin got up and went over to the other RT's position and looked over his shoulder, he could see a small blip approaching the Biespamylkovy very fast.

"What the...Naval Aviation and the Air Force are not apart of this mission..." Just then, the incoming missile alarm sounded, followed by the sound of multiple small arms open up. But, evidently this was all for naught, the missile, which went wildly off course when it fired from the Battlecruiser 'Vatiankino' struck the bow of the Biespamylkovy, shearing it off completely from the rest of the hull. Valiancin, who was standing up at the time, was thrown to the deck and hit his head on a monitor cutting his forehead up a bit. Dazed, he stumbled out onto the rapidly inclining deck, where the crew was abandoning ship. Valiancin stumbled over to the starboard side of the ship and looked down into the water, it looked like more than half of the crew had managed to get off of the ship by then. But it was then the ship's port side ammunition ignited, ripping a new hole into the ship and sending Valiancin flying into the water.

It was at this point where Valiancin woke up screaming inside of his dorm room, holding onto his hair as if that would help him. He was in a cold sweat, so much so in fact that it soaked through his tieĺniaška (blue-white striped shirt), he had to control his breathing and he looked around the room he was in. He never forgave himself for surviving, 325 out of the full compliment of 480 plus 12 officers had died, including Vitaĺ; a man that Valia had worked with for the entirety of his service, and all Valia had got was a small cut. Meanwhile, Kaciaryna was heavily wounded and was still recovering in a hospital in Vatiankino a full year after the incident occured. Feeling suddenly ill, Valia got out of bed and ran to his dorm room's bathroom, proceeding to puke his guts out into the toilet for a few minutes. He spat into the toilet when he was finished and went over to the sink to wash off his face, muttering to himself in Bielarusian. He sighed to himself, knowing he may have woken up the people in the nearby rooms, he went back to his bed knowing that it was going to be another night without sleep...

[Grozav Inima]

Roman Soarescu
Dormitory, Mont Chagrin Academy

The boy at the door, short, brown and even lankier than Roman, burst through, and barged directly into Roman, flinging the still burning joint to the floor, but the guy didnt seem to notice. Roman stood on the joint to put out the fire as Ferenc started talking. "My name in Ferenc Veres. I have come here on a scholarship paid for by the great Arik Zabong. In my spare time I play Minecraft, Roblox, and attempt math equations. I hail from the glorious land of Agualados, which I'm sure you know one thing about. I'd also appreciate it if you would not smoke that within at least ten feet of me. It can get be in your system for up to three months, you know,"

"The fuck is your problem, man?" Roman said, "My name is Roman Soarescu, if you were interested," he didn't really know how old this kid was, but if he was playing Minecraft and Roblox all day, Roman didn't have high hopes for his mental age.

Ferenc spoke quickly, once more, "305 is my dorm, as I suppose it is yours. Thus we are stuck together for the duration of the year, unfortunately."

Feeling pretty taken aback by Ferenc's mannerisms, and pretty annoyed at the loss of his blunt, Roman snapped back "Yeah, bunking with captain autismo is gonna be a real pain in the ass." He regretted saying it almost immediately.

Before he could apologize, or retract, Ferenc looked genuinely insulted, "What did you call me? Say it again. Say it," he said.

"Look, I'm sorry, but chill the fuck out man, its just a joke," Roman said, but Ferenc didn't seem interested in continuing the conversation, and barged into his dorm room, slamming the door behind him. Roman didn't know what he did in there but chances are it involved pixellated crafting. Roman shrugged and wandered back over to the couch, laying back and continuing to watch the Acronian film, he pulled out his phone, and started browsing an online anime imageboard he often frequents, the movie becoming more of a background noise to his shitposting.

Katya Cheng
Mont Chagrin Academy

Katya stepped off from the Skytrain into the Mont Chagrin Skytrain at the mid afternoon, about 4pm. She didn't really know her way to the dorm, but a map at the Skytrain station helped greatly. There was a massive number of people milling back and forth, like some kind of transport related mosh pit. She made her way out of the station, she passed the history section, filled with musty books and even mustier professors. The Medical section sort of creeped her out, Medical procedures, hospitals, operations and doctors always freaked her out. The dorms looked like where the real action was, many people were milling around, getting ready for the coming college year.

She made her way to her dorm building somewhat nervously, she was excited to meet her dormmates, who would hopefully become good friends, after a couple of flights of stairs, Katya stood outside her dorm, and knocked on the door, she heard a faint "Come in", from inside. She turned the handle and pushed the door open, she saw another girl about her age sitting on the couch browsing something on her phone. Katya set down her bags and closed the door behind her.

"Hey, I'm Katya, er, Katya Cheng," she said in French, as she walked over to the other girl.

The girl looked at her and smiled, "Hi, I'm Saran Nekan,".

It was a little bit awkward, since French was obviously both their second languages. "So you are the first here then?" Katya asked.

"Yeah, I guess so." Saran replied, setting her phone on the table.

"So what courses are you taking?" said Katya.

"My major is in Chemistry and I'm minoring in political science. What about you?", Saran said,

"That's really interesting, I'm majoring in Linguistics and minoring in Journalism, I don't really know what I'll do with it when I go home though..." Katya said.

"Where exactly are you from?" Saran asked.

"I was born in Grozav Inima, but my parents are from Chilokver," Katya said.

Saran's interest piqued and she began speaking in Grozyar, which both could speak as a first language, for a much smoother conversation. "Oh, that's pretty cool, I'm actually from Zoboyizakoplayoklot."

"So hey, you wanna check this place out with me then?" Katya asked.

"Yeah sure," said Saran.

[Zoboyizakoplayoklot]

Ferenc Veres
"The fuck is your problem, man?" the buffoon said to Ferenc. Despite only having known him for a short amount of time, Ferenc had already taken to disliking him. "My name is Roman Soarescu, if you were interested," he finished.

Ferenc gagged internally. It was a disgusting name in his opinion. Roman sounded quite bland, and Soarescu seemed to roll off the tongue badly. There was a multitude of superior names that Ferenc could think of easily. Arik Zabong. Tamati Jakab. Steve. All great names of great people, and his roommates name certainly represented how good of a person he was. Before he spoke again, Ferenc took a brief moment to take a good look at Roman. He had green eyes, but not a nice shade like the green found on Creepers, but more akin to that of cartoon sewage. A disgusting color, an eyesore on a worse facial structure. Height wise he was a solid few inches taller than Ferenc, which coupled with his more visible mass made him a tad intimidating to Ferenc. Ferenc wasn't afraid though. He had the superior intellect, as well as the protection of the wealthiest man in Zoboyizakoplayoklot. If Roman so much as layed a finger on Ferenc, Mr. Zabong would buy him and force him to spend the rest of his life as a janitor in his stores. Probably.

Realizing he had begun to stare and Roman was getting more agitated, Ferenc spoke again.
"305 is my dorm, as I suppose it is yours. Thus we are stuck together for the duration of the year, unfortunately."

It was truly a grave misfortune in Ferenc's opinion. He had tried to state the fact as kindly as was humanly possible for him, but being pure Grozyar and inhaling one of the worst substances in the world were two things which Ferenc considered to be unforgivable, and thus it was very difficult for him to be polite, let alone kind to Roman.

"Yeah, bunking with Captain Autismo is going to be a real pain in the ass," Roman snapped back, obviously having reached his boiling point. As soon as Roman said it, Ferenc felt as if a volcano had just erupted in his stomach. What gave this savage the right to diagnose him with a mental illness? Was he a trained psychologist? A doctor? Ferenc was a bastion of human progress, possessing an unnatural level of intelligence and sense of youth, and it was a serious insult to be thrown around. In fact, it was probably Roman that had autism. Yes! Ferenc was about to shoot back with a classic "I know you are but what am I?" when he ultimately decided not to. As the condescending example of Communist education and mixed genetics, he had to take the upper ground.

"What did you call me? Say it again. Say it." Ferenc taunted.

He had learned that tactic on an anti-bullying forum. If you confront a bully about what they've done, they would surely realize what their mistake was and change it. So in other words, by making Roman repeat his statement, Ferenc was forcing him to accept defeat! As a result, when Roman made an attempt to fire back, Ferenc turned around and dashed into his room. That would show him. Roman would be left alone, pondering his weak excuse of a life and realizing he was the lesser human being when compared to Ferenc. Meanwhile, Ferenc would be hanging up his Tamati Jakab posters and setting up his PC. He was late for his daily visit to the Pixelmon server.

Saran Nekan
Saran felt her heart pump as the door opened. She had no idea what to expect, and she had knocked down her hopes quite a bit. She'd probably end up with some nihilistic woman from Csoportsag who would be too apathetic to properly wash herself, or perhaps she'd get stuck with a Zerinite sorority chick who'd be drunk twenty-four-seven and keep everyone up at night with all her mating calls. Then again, Saran probably wouldn't be sleeping much anyways depending on how time consuming her courses turned out to be. She had read online about how some students across Atlas had forgone the traditional nightly sleep and instead had opted to take short periodic naps whenever possible. If it came down to it, Saran would be open to giving that a try.

Through the door walked a slim girl of Auchoian descent, she was a couple inches shorter then Saran, but still an average height. She had long hair about the same length as Saran, albeit darker. The fact that she was ethnically Auchoian came as a welcome surprise to Saran, her light skin hinting at her possibly hailing from Songha or somewhere else to the west of Zoboyizakoplayoklot.

"Hey, I'm Katya, er, Katya Cheng," the girl said in choppy French, an awkward undertone present.

Saran smiled, trying her best to seem welcoming. "Hi, I'm Saran Nekan," she said in French no better than Katya's. That last minute cram studying aboard the plane didn't amount to much after all.

They didn't say anything for a few seconds, both women unsure of what to say, especially in a language that obviously neither was fluent in. "So you are the first here then?" Katya asked, breaking the ice.

"Yeah, I guess so." Saran replied. She realized she had continued to stare at her phone throughout the conversation, and she set it down hurriedly in a gesture of politeness. She could fry her brains with that nonsensical Western media any time.

"So what courses are you taking?" Katya asked, trying to strike up a conversation following Saran's dead ended response.

"My major is in Chemistry and I'm minoring in political science. What about you?" Saran answered. She admitted to herself it was quite an odd combination, but it was what she decided she would prefer. Chemistry had always been an academic strong suit of hers, and to not take it would've been a mistake. As for Political Science, it was just something she found interesting.

"That's really interesting, I'm majoring in Linguistics and minoring in Journalism, I don't really know what I'll do with it when I go home though..." Katya said.

"Where exactly are you from?" Saran asked. Katya had a familiar accent, she just couldn't put a place to it through the French.

"I was born in Grozav Inima, but my parents are from Chilokver." Katya said.

Grozav Inima? Well now Saran felt stupid. She couldn't recognize the accent of the largest minority and historical enemies of her country? How stupid was she? Anyhow, being from Zoboyizakoplayoklot Saran was a fluent speaker of the Grozyar language, and it would be much easier to converse that way.

"Oh, that's pretty cool, I'm actually from Zoboyizakoplayoklot," she said in Grozyar.

"So hey, you wanna check this place out with me then?" Katya asked.

"Sure." Saran responded, grabbing her phone off the table as she stood up.

The two girls walked down the hallway and out of the main building, off in the direction of the artificial beach. It was a scorching hot day out, and Saran theorized that the place would be packed. As they walked down the two made some small talk to pass the time.

"So what was it like coming from an immigrant family?" Saran asked. She knew Grozav Inima was quite a socially conservative country, and she wouldn't have been surprised if Katya said it was tough.

"It's not so bad, not like people think, I mean, It's interesting having two languages from birth. I imagine Grozyars might be less... hospitable to Alfashiris, but they treat us Auchoians just like anybody else." Katya responded.

Upon hearing that Auchoians were treated as equals in Grozav Inima, Saran thought back to all her history classes where the teachers would lecture the students on the "Dark Years", or "Khar Jil" in Zobik. The name alone kind of explained what it was like, and she was glad things had changed for the better.

"Well that's good. There's a lot of Grozyars in Zoboyizakoplayoklot, and for the most part they blend in fine." Saran said.

"I heard that the Zobiks are still pretty upset over the whole, you know, colonization thing." Katya asked.

Saran pursed her lips. That was a touchy subject to many, but she figured she'd give Katya the rundown. "Well, some certainly are, especially in lower income areas in Zobika and Khyarga. Zobik nationalist sentiment there is quite large, and at times things can get... violent. Most sane people are over it though."

"Fair enough, there's some Zobik immigrants in Veraglia, but I havent really met any properly. So what's Zóbogyizok like anyway?" Katya asked.

"It's pretty good overall. The government typically doesn't do anything too stupid, though sometimes I wonder if the Regent has more power then the constitution says he does. The people are mostly nice, except for the Zobik nationalists I mentioned earlier, and there are people in Yul who are almost worse. It's also quite beautiful environment wise, the Quakilon Desert being an exception." Starting to feel a bit homesick, Saran changed the subject. "What is Grozav Inima like? I've heard lots, but never from someone actually from there."

"I'm not really sold on President Balan, but the Grozyar government doesnt really do much of anything, the people are mostly good people, but I suppose there are horrible people anywhere you go." Katya responded.

Arriving at the artificial beach, the two women stopped and stared at it for a minute. It appeared mostly natural, and Saran wouldn't have guessed it was artificial if it hadn't been stated. It also wasn't nearly as busy a second she thought it would be, which was a good thing.

"That's real neat, I wonder how close it is to being at a real beach." Katya wondered aloud.

"I feel like the lake is mostly real, but the sand was probably imported. I wonder whose idea it was to put it in. There's no way it would've been cheap." Saran replied.

"I wouldn't mind going for a dip, you up for it?" Katya asked.

"I might as well. Nothing better to do I guess." Saran said nervously.

It was a good thing they brought their swim suits.

Kotyan Ukilen
Kotyan had never been huge on bars. He had always found them to be too restrictive, with their bouncers, lack of privacy, and worst of all the exorbitant prices of drinks. All that could be avoided at a good house party. There was no one to enforce the rules, rooms when you needed them, and coolers and fridges open for all. It was the start of the year though, and no one had the connections or preparations for an enjoyable party of his liking. So as it stood, Matignon would do.

"Alright lads, let's do it," Killian said eagerly, diving through the doors without another word.

"Wait, but shouldn't we... ah hell." Kotyan pursed his lips as he accepted Killian was thinking with his throat and not his brain. He turned to Sergei, who looked back at him silently. He was a pretty quiet guy, which Kotyan guessed was better than someone who spoke every second of the day. Not like Kotyan could understand everything the big d-man said through his thick Elesarian accent. Same thing with Killian. English wasn't Kotyan's first language, and the extra "ye" and "aye" that was thrown in occasionally didn't make it any easier.

"Hey Sergei, I'll hook up with you later." Kotyan said reluctantly. "I've got to see what this school was for entertainment. You know what I mean."

As Kotyan ducked inside, he felt kind of bad leaving the big guy behind. Being alone wouldn't be much fun, surely, but if Sergei was just looking for a drink he didn't need Kotyan with him. But in Kotyan's case, no wingman was better then a wingman who sounded like he was about to single handedly break Red Vaznik.

Scanning the interior of the bar, Kotyan found himself to be a tad out of luck. Most patrons were already paired up, in a large group, or male. No lonely females waiting for someone to keep them company, unfortunately. Except for one. She sat alone at a table in the corner, drinking some slush drink that looked like it belonged at some high schoolers vacation to the Kon To Det Islands. He wasn't sure what was in it, but he certainly hoped it was alcoholic. The girl herself was decent looking. Her dirty blonde hair fell down to her shoulders, swaying as she nodded her head to the music, her dark blue eyes occasionally looking up from her phone, darting around the room. While she appeared a tad skinnier than Kotyan would have preferred, she compensated for it with an attractive face.

Walking over to where she sat, Kotyan wondered where Killian and Sergei had ended up. Hopefully they had found each other. He wasn't quite sure how either of them handled their alcohol, and he didn't want to end of paying one of them a visit at the ER. Or worse, the cop shop. Even with no charges, the School admins probably wouldn't like it ignore they realized they were giving a scholarship to a supposed delinquent.

"Hey, mind if I sit here?" Kotyan asked, trying his best to seem casual. "There's not really anywhere else to sit in here so, you know."

Kotyan wanted to punch himself in the face. You know? He had better lines than the way a stuttering nerd would finish off a statement. If he blew his chance, he wouldn't be surprised.

"Sure, take a seat. I'd appreciate the company," the girl said smiling. "Especially when that company is the the same person that scored the game winning goal tonight."

Kotyan's heart skipped a beat. This girl watched hockey? She knew who he was? Coming from Zoboyizakoplayoklot, where hockey was maybe the third most popular sport, he had never been recognized like that before.

"Well I wouldn't say it was all me. Our goalie had to stand on his head for the win to happen." Kotyan said.

"Don't put yourself down like that," the girl said. "Here, let me buy you a drink. Waiter! Get this guy your best wine, on me."

Kotyan felt bile come up to his mouth. "No wine, thanks," he said. "A bottle of airag will be fine." Both the waiter and girl looked at him quizzically, and Kotyan was almost surprised to see the waiter return with a bottle of every Zoboyizakoplayokloti's favourite white liquid. He cracked the bottle open, took a hearty gulp, and even though it was of subpar quality, it reminded him of home.

"What in the world is that?" the girl asked teasingly. "I ask the waiter for the best wine they've got and you substitute it for milk?"

Kotyan chuckled. "Have a taste, Acronian tsetseg, and you shall be enlightened."

She took a swig sure enough, and her face of disgust gave Kotyan a good laugh. While they only managed to talk for a few minutes, Kotyan got a special feeling from this girl. She was remarkably funny, and seemed to have an intellect that was beyond the type he had been searching for that night. She was majoring in Fine Arts though, which made Kotyan worry seriously for her future. Everything was going fine and dandy, and Kotyan was confident he'd be going to sleep late that night, when all of a sudden a ruckus of noise came over from the bar. Peering over the crowd, Kotyan was almost unsurprised to see it was Killian. A flurry of fists flew, drinks splashing like a tidal wave, and Kotyan watched as Killian fended off three guy all by his lonesome, dashing out the door. Torn between staying with the girl and catching up to Killian, Kotyan decided on the latter.

"Shit, sorry, but I've got to see to this." He said as he dropped a paper bill to cover both of their tabs, and scurried outside.

As he found Killian wandering around outside, he thought back to the girl. He knew for a fact there'd be others, but he didn't even get her name.

And that was a bigger shame then the quarter bottle of airag he still had left.

[Tenburg]

14th Ave, Defense


Killian couldn’t help but chuckle as he looked up at the bright purple neon sign: MATIGNON. He could hear the bass blasting from outside, even though the doors weren’t open. In Tenburg, this place would likely be expecting a visit from the local fire chief.

“Alright lads, let’s to it.” Without listening for his teammates’ responses, Killian strolled up to the front door, and upon opening it, was blasted in the face with bone-vibrating music. The crowd was pressed against the entrance, so Killian had to push his way in. The overwhelming smell was one of sweat and vodka…. Much like the locker room in his Tennish Youth Hockey League days. It was dark, with a few bright purple lights which seemed more like an aesthetic touch than being useful. Towards the back, the dance floor was more illuminated with purple, and completely packed.

Killian turned around “Right, fellas, you try to find a---“. Lo and behold, they weren’t behind him. They were lost somewhere in the crowd. He knew immediately he wasn’t finding them any time soon. “Ach, fuck it.” There was nothing else for it except to push and shove his way over to the bar and try to get a drink.

He pushed his way through the mob of students and made his way to the bar, noticing an empty seat. God was smiling on him tonight, clearly. Killian practically jumped in it, and while it wasn’t the most luxurious seat in the world, it was better than the plane ride.

Additionally, he had a nice view of an Acronian sports network on the TV, which was showing highlights of the game he had just finished playing only a few hours prior. As they showed the last save before Sergei returned, Killian couldn’t help but cock his head a little. Did he really reach that far?

The highlight also confirmed that he, in fact, landed on his ass.

A bartender finally made her way over to him, asking him in heavily-accented English what he wanted.

“O’Toole on the rocks, please,” he replied.

She began making his drink, as the nearly-untouched bottle of O’Toole Tennish Whiskey was right in front of her. “Good job, by the way,” She said with a smile. She was quite pretty.

“Good job what?” he asked, watching the bottle.

She nodded towards the TV. “Believe it or not, Acronius takes hockey very seriously… monsieur MacDonald.”

He looked up at her and smirked. “What about football?”

“'Le beau jeu,'” she said with a smile, “’The Beautiful Game’. If it is not one, it is the other.” She placed the whiskey in front of Killian as he slid his money onto the bar.

“That’s good to hear,” Killian said as he took a long-overdue sip of his whiskey.

Ahhhhhhh. A taste of home.

“So… for which sport do you say you are better?” she asked.

Killian shrugged. “Been doing this shit for so long... I dunno. Fuckin’ too busy to think about shit like that.”

The bartender was going to say something but was shouted at from the other end of the bar, and disappeared, leaving Killian to his thoughts in a sea of people who probably couldn’t speak his language. As he drank his whiskey, it suddenly hit him that there was a distinct possibility that all the classes would be taught in a language he didn’t fucking know. That just might be an issue. He’d need to find a tutor or something.

Oh well. No need to think about that now.

As time went on, he finished his drink, and was eventually able to order another from a different bartender that had made his way to within Killian’s area. As he began his second drink, he was poked hard on his right shoulder, and turned around to find an Acronian girl with far too much makeup on her face, rambling something at him in French.

“What the fuck are ye talkin’ about?” he finally said.

“This… is my seat!” she managed.

“I’ve been here for nearly twenty minutes,” Killian replied, “the fuck are you on about?”

“No, this is my seat!” she maintained.

“Ah, fuck off.” Killian turned back around and took another sip of his whiskey. A hard shove brought his attention back around as a man in a nice sweater was now standing next to the overly-made-up girl.

“This is my girlfriend, and that is her chair.”

“Piss off, ye wee shite, I’ve been here for twenty minutes and I ain’t seen her once.”

The guy straightened up. “If this was my seat, you would not have taken it."

Killian stared at him for a moment, then slowly put his glass down as more and more nearby people began to pay attention to the commotion. He got out of the stool and squared himself up to the Acronian, who came to find that Killian had a good four inches on him.

“Sit in it and see.”

If not for the loud music, one could have heard a pin drop in the six-foot radius around the two. As it became apparent that the Acronian didn’t have the gumption to take up Killian’s offer, Killian sat back down, and the tension was relieved as he continued with his drink.

It didn’t dissipate entirely, however, as the two, for whatever reason, decided to stay behind him. In fact, the guy decided it was a good idea to order drinks over Killian’s shoulder. Killian truly hoped all Acronians weren't so passive-aggressive.

As the bartender made two drinks and placed them on the bar, the guy made a point to nudge Killian with his arm as he reached for them.

“Do you want a fuckin’ splintered-glass facial?!” Killian roared as he jumped out of his chair and grabbed him.

The Acronian tossed a drink in his face and began to swear in French before Killian shoved his free fist into his face numerous times. People around them began screaming as teeth began to fly, and finally Killian poured his own drink on him before stepping away from the bar, only to be confronted by what he assumed were friends of the guy he just pummeled. Killian shoved away one guy into a nearby table and began firing punches at the other. While this guy at least got a smack in, he didn’t fare much better than the first. The second guy came back and got a hard kick in the gut for his troubles.

Killian forced his way through the crowd, and just as he made it to the door, he was grabbed by a third guy who threw a punch that could put out a horse. Killian responded in kind, and although he couldn’t see straight, he knew he made contact because the grip was released on his shirt. He basically fell out the front door, laying on the sidewalk for a second before realizing, Fuck, I should probably get out of here. He jumped up, dusted himself off and headed down the street.

As he got to the corner, he whipped out his phone and texted Sergei:

fuck this place. gonna find a different bar. cant fuckin hear myself think. will let you know where I end up.

Feeling his face and finding no blood, he shook his head quickly and looked around at the various spots nearby. He wondered if there were any Tennish expats in Defense; if there were, they’d surely have a bar.

But then again, there's never been a time he was in a Tennish bar where a fight didn't break out, whether he was involved or not.

Killian decided just to head home, and shot another text to Sergei saying as much before looking for a taxi.

[Krosny-Zdzieszowice]

The Previous Day

"Avez-vous des feux d'artifice à vendre?"

Konstantyn was shopping for fireworks yesterday. Why? Well, he had heard the screaming coming from the dorm room next to him. After muttering a series of curses, he then thought to himself why that asshole was screaming at four o'clock in the morning. Was it possible to get laid this early? Nah, it couldn't be. This didn't sound like... well, you know what. It sounded like some vet who had PTSD. Maybe that guy had PTSD, heh. There was one thing he was certain of, however. Actually, two things but just ignore that: This guy was pissing him off and if he would continue to do that then he would have to take appropriate measures. As well, he hadn't performed a prank for the "lulz" yet and he intended too. The other thing he intended to do as well was get wasted 24/7 and some other fun stuff, but pranks could come first. The first step to that of course, was fireworks. Quite a fair share of firecrackers.

Later on in the day, before this of course, he asked some Acronian dude what the hell that screaming was about. All the Acronian had to say was that the guy was from Bielarus and was old enough to have served in that mandatory conscription program thing they had. Konstantyn had remembered hearing about the hazing issues in the barracks of most Western slavic nations, and assumed that he had essentially been "BTFO" by the older guys. Must have been heavy stuff if he was going to be like this. So he had taken the tram downtown at evening and found a fireworks place.

"Oui, oui! Qu'est-ce que tu veux?"

"J'en aurai quelques-unes."

Konstantyn had picked up some fairly good firecrackers and put them on the cashier's counter. Thankfully, he didn't ask what a college student was going to be doing with about 120 Nowe Bransk worth of high-paygrade firecrackers. It'd be really difficult to give a good reason why. But the cashier simply ringed them up, gave him the receipt and he walked off. Gaining access into the Bielarusians room was easy since he was gone. Where, he didn't know. It didn't matter. The room looked like a mess. Where to put the fireworks though. He might have shit stored under the bed, that might not be the best option to put them. The toilet might be good. He might need to take a piss before bed though. It'd be worth checking out both beforehand and make a decision after.

He made the unfortunate mistake of going into the bathroom first. He was instantly met with the smell of vomit, shit and piss. This guy definitely was a hardcore drinker. He quickly half-jogged out of the bathroom, and took a look around. Pretty bare as far as he cared. Nothing ordinary. He then realized and remembered that he couldn't remotely set these things off, so he'd have to improvise. He walked out of the room and quickly added some length to the firecracker fuses and then tied them together with a small rubber band. And now, it was time to wait until tomorrow morning.

Present Day

Konstantyn had woke up very early for no apparent reason, almost as though some God had intervened so that he could do this prank right. Hahaha there was no god. He rose out of bed. He put his clothes on and some shoes, before he stopped. There might be a camera in the hallways... he decided to take a hat with him. He took the firecrackers and a lighter and walked out. He could hear the sound of the sailor thrashing in bed all the way out in the hallway.

You better not fucking wake up, these firecrackers are expensive.

Konstantyn quietly pulled a lighter out his shirt pocket, and thought to himself about what might happen if he did this. This guy could have a fucking fit, and if he saw Konstantyn outside his room with a lighter at 4AM, he couldn't think of what the Bielarusian would do to him. Alternatively, the school staff might find him out and get pissed. Or he could do this with no problems, but have some drunk dude find him when the explosion went off while he was in the hallway and tell the Bielarusian who the guy was. Or nothing would happen and he'd have plenty of laughs.

He should have bought a Krosni-Bielarusian dictionary from that novelty store outside campus, perhaps. He lit all the long fuses with his lighter, rolled the firecrackers on the ground into the room, ran back to his room and locked the door. Now this would be where the fun began.

[Allied Connurist States]

Sinead O'Malley
Dormitory, Mont Chagrin Academy

Sinead put her bags down outside the door, practically dropping them so she could free her hands into her pocket and retrieve the key to this 'deluxe' dorm she was supposed to be living in. The pictures had looked great, but pictures used for advertising purposes always did, and it wasn't exactly like she could come over to Acronius and view them with her own eyes beforehand. Then again, it had to be better than her first year accommodation in Castarcian university. The apartment last year had been practically falling down, but it was dirt cheap, in a good location, and had 'character', whatever that was supposed to be. What she had learnt was that your company mattered far more than your actual surroundings.

After a slight struggle of figuring out which way round the key entered the lock and which way she had to turn it, she managed her way in, dragging her bags in and letting it slam behind her. Sinead was fit and in shape, but she had literally packed the absolute maximum she could physically put into her suitcase, so much so that the baggage guy at the airport nearly kicked up a fuss about it exceeding permitted weight and wanted her to pay her an extra charge. She was probably only off of the hook because she was hot. A taxi from the airport had proven to be a smart investment and allowed her to get a little bit of French practice in, but just hauling her belongings up here was enough to stress her out, especially with the little incline she'd had to walk up. And with the way she had half-dropped her bags, she hoped she hadn't damaged or broken any of her treasured possessions.

She was happy now, however, and it was imperative that she was so that she made a decent impression on whoever she had to live with. Please be fun, she thought. Sinead would not be impressed if any of her dorm-mates were going to be the type to complain about loud music or not going to let her have parties in the main room. But if she were half-dreading meeting new people in case they were boring or just arseholes, she was looking forward to actually catching her breath and unpacking some of the contents of what she had brought. She had passed through the duty free section and was unable to resist buying a bottle or two of vodka on the cheap, and although she would have to make a new network of contacts should she wish to source the recreational items she was most used to, she had managed to nick a whole box of diazepam pills that her mother got on prescription. The choice she would have to make later when meeting new people was this - would she rather have a drink with them and get a bit drunk, or pop a few pills? Drinking with others was more sociable, and would make her less anxious, but get too drunk and she would either make herself look like a twat or sleep with someone, possibly both. The pills made all anxiety disappear, but she wouldn't want to mix them with alcohol, and if she took too much she'd just go to sleep. In addition, the pills would have value, although precisely how much, she was not aware.

In truth, Sinead wanted to unpack a few things in what would be her bedroom, put on some music, ideally have a shower, change her outfit, and then if there was no-one to be sociable with, call it a night and get up early tomorrow. But before she committed herself to such a course of action, well, she wanted to have a look around the place. Slowly entering where the living room and kitchen was, she observed her surroundings. It would do. "Hello?" she called out, instinctively in English first, then repeating herself in French - this was Defense after all.

[Lupolska]

The train screeched to a stop at the college's station, comparatively small compared to some of the others that Defense's metro served. Such was understandable- not nearly as many college students would need to use the metro as would normal, everyday workers. Nonetheless, the station was as beautifully sculpted and decorated as the others, if not as magnificent in scale as the airport or city center station. Already standing at the exit when the doors slid open, Siilva stepped off right away, hauling her suitcase over the small but inconvenient gap between the train floor and platform. Once she was off, the general rush and business that had characterized the last hour or so of baggage claims, customs checks, and metro riding. Here she was- only a short walk lay between her and the Mont Chagrin Academy. She ambled to the front entrance, suitcase handle in her hand and rucksack on her back.

As she pushed through the rotating, opaque-glass door, she found herself at the gate of the academy, finally. The massive doors were open, allowing entry to the campus. Though cars were present, there were not many, with most students near the entrance opting to walk in small groups or ride bikes.Wow. Siilva thought. After almost a decade of endless hard work, she found herself here. From the cold, remote, snowswept village of Suojärvi, to the gates of one of the world's finest academic institutions. The weather was not bad, either. She found herself slighly hot in her luhkka, but alas, she had chosen to wear it for the plane ride and for her maiden voyage to the university. It would stay on until she had reached her dorm and began to unpack.

Conveniently enough, a conspicuously-marked welcome center was located close to the entrance. This would be Siilva's first stop.

She walked through the simple glass door into the well-lit interior room, adorned with skylights and a chandelier. Positioned at the opposing end of the room, over the stantion-cluttered floor, was a counter, behind which the secretary sat. Siilva walked past the stantions and approached the counter, drawing upon her English for the first of many, many times at the school. The thought of having to be so reliant on English intimidated Siilva briefly, enough to give her pause before addressing the secretary.

"Madame? I'm here to get room key." she said.

"Yes, of course. What's your name?"

"Siilva Ikitaalo. Two I's." she said, pre-empting the near-ubiquitous mistake that non-Saami made.

The secretary made a muffled 'hmm' to herself, and then nodded. "Yes, I see. Ikitaalo?"

Siilva nodded. "Good. Wait one moment, Siilva, while I get your room key." the secretary assured, getting up from her desk. The secretary, slightly taller than Siilva herself, disappeared behind the cubicle wall. Siilva could quietly hear the rustling of supplies and files- the opening and closing of drawers. Before she knew it, the lady had retured with a device that resembled a credit card. "Your room key, madame."

"This is it? Room key?" Siilva asked, giving the lady a short pause.

"Yes." The lady said. "Now, you go to whichever room you like, and once you slide that key in, it will be able to open that door, but none of the other dorm rooms. Of course, make sure to check with anyone already in the room- if no one's already in there, then go right ahead."

"Okay. I will remember. Thank you." Siilva replied politely, her accent very noticeable this time.

"No problem. Bienvenue au Mont Chagrin." the secretary replied with a smile.

Siilva turned to exit, again bypassing the stantions on her way out.

Now to find my room.

[Tenburg]

Somewhere near dorm Gamma


As Kotyan had caught up to Killian seemingly out of nowhere, the two of them headed back to campus, only to finish off the remaining two-thirds of the 30-pack Killian had bought. Later on, the time had come for some fresh air—and a smoke for Killian—and so they ended up stumbling about in a courtyard-type area as Killian looked for a bench to sit down.

“Did I tell ye… that was one helluva a shot you fired at tha’ poor bastard…!” Killian couldn’t help but laugh as he remembered the sound of the slapshot. “…I mean, just, what a crack! Fuck, if we’d been playing outside, they could’ve heard that one clear back home—“

Something suddenly caught Killian’s admittedly shaky eyes. Beneath one of many lamps in this common yard, a pair of heavenly figures came into view… or was it one? Killian suddenly realized he could well be so drunk he was seeing double. But however many of them there were, they were beautiful.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” he asked aloud, leaning on Kotyan briefly to keep balance. The fact that he couldn’t tell whether there was one of these angelic beings or two was suddenly bothering him. A lot. He had to know the answer.

Now, normally, even when intoxicated, he was smarter than to just stumble up to someone and start jawing away at them if he didn’t know them. But at this moment, this was the only thing important to him. He had to know.

“Excuse me,” he said, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, “Can I ask you a question?” He took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth as he spoke. “Am I so drunk I’m seein’ double, or is there actually two o’ ye’s?”

“…Yes, there are two of us…” one of them replied. At least, that's what he heard.

But that’s all he wanted to know.

“Ach, that’s brilliant,” he said, having inadvertently tuned her out. He turned around and began stumbling back toward his teammate, lighting his cigarette as he proclaimed, “I’m not blind, there *is* two of ‘em!” He almost fell down as he reached Kotyan.

“Whoa there, buddy… how bout you just head back to the dorm, you need some sleep,” he heard Kotyan say before he went down to the girls himself.

“An’ where ‘re you goin’ then?” He took a long drag as he watched the Zoboy-whatever-i talk to the girls, one of which seemed a little steamed as a result. Killian chuckled. “’Ey, quit harrassin’ ‘em!” he shouted to his friend, the smile returning to his face as he pulled the last beer out from under his shirt. “Leave ‘em be, will ye!”

He turned around and began stumbling back towards his dorm. “Dumb slanty-eyed kid,” he slurred under his breath.

The dorm was the same as they left it: one beer left in the box, which Killian gladly took, and no sign of Sergei. Killian chuckled again, turning on the light and leaving the door open. “Prob’ly in the middle of some orgy by now.” He drudged back to his room and hit the light, looking through spinning eyes at the things on his desk before turning on the small TV to a local sports channel. He’d be damned if he couldn’t understand a word of it, but it made for some fantastic white noise as he hit the lights off and fell into bed, taking sips from the last beer, now lukewarm, as he fell asleep.