Snowed-In: Eikangaard's Solo Adventure! [CLOSED]

[Eikangaard]

What up nerds?! This thread is basically a place for me to post dumb stuff about the crazy world of Eikangaard. I'll be using this to explore characters and concepts and help me keep myself grounded in what I would like to do. Characters may be added or dropped as they become important to the stories at large. I can't guarantee when I'll be updating this, or what it's going to focus on. It's mostly just going to be something I work on as my whims strike me.

[Might be a table of contents added in the future]
- yknow, if I need one

[Eikangaard]

Eikangaard United Socialist
Republic [EUSR]

An electronic beeping dragged her back to wakefulness, and Janet Maass dragged her arm from under the warm, heavy covers to groggily grope for the alarm clock on her bedside table. The beeping stopped, and she let out a groan before tossing the covers off, mentally cursing the civilian life once again. Her time at premier had made her lazy, she knew. No longer did she wake up at the crack of dawn without the need for an alarm clock. Now she would awaken, still slightly exhausted form the previous day, to a blaring alarm clock and more and more taxing decisions she had to make as the Premier of her own nation.

Rolling out of bed, she took in the state of her bedroom and was once again reminded on how little she'd actually bothered to make into anything other than a bedroom. She remembered seeing photos of the old Royal Palace in Vaastergaad, of the opulent bedrooms held withing its walls. Sure it might be seen as distasteful for a nation built on avoiding the decadence and corruption that wracked the old Constitutional Monarchy, but anything was better than a barely-there spartan dresser and mirror, desk, and a queen-sized bed brought in from a bargain-bin mattress store. Even other Socialist-coded nations in Sunalaya could boast better accommodations for their head of state than a cavernous room filled with only a fraction of the items it should've and still painted a stark white.

But perhaps that was her fault. The Premier's Residence had been built only a few months back, as one of the many buildings required to be set up for the new Socialist Regime in northern Eikangaard. Both as a method of ensuring better government efficiency and of ditching the hastily over-taken temporary lodgings of their early days, but also to hopefully broadcast with visual cues that the EUSR was a legitimate government with legitimate goals. From the outside, the Premier's Residence certainly looked the part of an opulent abode for a head-of-state.

But these white-painted walls, never changed anywhere since the building's construction, and the sparse decor were the reason that no one outside of her closest advisers, high-ranking officials, and her state-guard had seen the inside of it. The only photos to be found were cellphone camera footage of it under construction.

It was her fault really the whole place looked so barren. She could never find the time to even plan any updates to the residence. Even picking out a new color for the walls was too much for her busy schedule. While there were ministers and officials who were far more qualified than her who could handle the multitude of issues plaguing the nascent nation. Ensuring the economy was properly supported and/or regulated, ensuring that her people had enough food to eat, ensuring that their borders were secure, ensuring that they could defend themselves from outside attack, ensuring that people had access to their utilities, that public works projects were abundant enough to secure people jobs that were lost following the war. But she still needed to sign off on all those major issues, and ten times as many minor problems that cropped up again and again.

That and those blowhards who were trying to impose a full Communist system within the EUSR, as if that had been the end-goal from the start. It was a tool. Nothing more. A tool to ensure a decent quality of life for everyone, and not the super rich.

Janet sighed. She grabbed a robe of the foot of her bed, a heavy, white, fur-lined number that helped immensely against the cold when the temperature really dropped, slipping it on around her shoulders. She stuffed her feet into two plush slippers and headed towards the door.

Pushing it open, she was greeted by two officers of the People's National Defense Army's Special Tactics and Reconnaissance Group. Her own personal guard for the time she would spend as Premier. And likely after, seeing as she was the face of the EUSR's founding. The two officers snapped to attention, one a blonde haired young man who stood a full head taller than her, and another shorter, stockier man with dark hair and an equally dark beard. Both wore distinctive white-and-grey coats, common dress uniform for members of STRG. "Good morning, ma'am." They greeted, snapping quick salutes to their commander-in-chief.

She returned the salute. "At ease, boys." She said. "How are things this morning?"

"Same as usual, ma'am." Said the taller soldier. "Will you be having breakfast shortly?"

Janet gave a small nod, taking off towards the kitchen. "I think so, though I think I'll take a short tour of the house." She admitted. "This place needs a makeover."

As much as she needed a vacation went unsaid.

[Eikangaard]

Royal Union of Eikangaard

Pulling her coat tighter around herself, she marched briskly through the streets of the small town of Valleborg. The town had been once a stopover for trains running between north and south Eikangaard, but with the civil war, subsequent partitioning and closing of borders, the trains didn't run any more. Looking to the left, you could see some of them, hooked up to empty train cars, slowly being buried under a growing layer of snow and ice, rusting slowly as they languished, unused, un-cared for, useless to a nation that was little more than a punching-bag on the island of the two more powerful diametrically opposed powers.

By design, it had been left destitute as a buffer state, much like how she'd been let go under the cover of a secret prison escape. Princess Krissal's imprisonment, once thought to be a show of solidarity against the old Monarchy's oppression and corruption, had rapidly turned into an international embarrassment as more and more nations, many of them allies of the Republic, had condemned that act and called for her release. The public had shot back, stating that her imprisonment was not going far enough in dealing with the tyrants of the old Monarchy. Torn between acquiescing to public sentiment and saving face on the international stage, they'd let her go, exiled her to the Royal Union, and then branded her an escaped fugitive.

They'd probably given her that old threadbare sweater and those half-disintegrated sneakers hoping she'd quietly die of exposure when the winter set in.

So the disgraced former-princess had immediately proven them wrong, stolen a coat and proper boots from the first town she'd found in a dilapidated store-front that had miraculously not been looted yet, and set off on her way. Problem was, as she rapidly learned, that despite most people supporting her being here, and hopefully trying to get her throne back, which she wasn't sure of yet, the authorities were not so welcoming. She'd been fired on by local authorities once, and that's aout when she learned that they had standing orders to either capture or kill her on sight. Apparently the puppet queen Maeda wanted to keep her powerbase, as rotten and falling apart as it was.

She found a place to get out of the cold for a moment, a local pub that had probably seen better days even before the civil war's aftermath had lead to skyrocketing crime rates. Whatever, it was shelter from the weather, and was better than nothing. She marched over to the bar, ignring the stares of the patrons. Most of them probably wouldn't know who she was, not with her hair so different. Brown hair that had once gone down to her mid back in a thickly weaved braid was now a shoulder-length side-cut dyed blue. A gift from a supporter to help keep her hidden. Not to mention that her time in prison hadn't done any favors to her complexion, which was also helping her fade into obscurity. With the clothes she had on, she fit in with the downtrodden and the weak left behind in the mad scramble for political supremacy.

She walked right up to the bar, sitting down brusquely on the stool. "Cheapest crap you've got." She ordered, earning a annoyed grumble from the barkeep. He nonetheless turned away to grab her order.

"Cold out there, ain't it?" A voice next to her asked. His accent wasn't Eikan, which for the moment confused her. She chalked it up to the multitude of foreign volunteers who came in to try and help in any way they could. His accent was somewhat german, so she figured he was one of the oh-so-virtuous Rezuans. She glanced at him. Young, rather lanky, but somewhat handsome in the rugged sense. Dark hair cut short under a simple toque and a heavy jacket.

"Mmmm..." She agreed wordlessly, hopefulyl trying to convey that she didn't want to talk. She just needed her fix of booze and a bit of warmth, not small-talk.

"Not much of a talker, are you sweetie?" He said. Sweetie. The way he said that made her bristle. She was not in the mood for this shit tonight. Not when her ass was feeling half-frozen. Not when she was certain more than a few people in here were staring at her, judging if they wanted to come up and meet her or rat her out to whatever group they were really loyal to.

The bartender, luckily, came back with a bottle of cheap beer just then. She popped it open and took a long gulp to keep from having to respond to the jackass.

"Hey I'm just trying to make conversation." He continued. What would it take for this guy to take the hint? "I get it. Everybody here's in a bad mood. Just trying to lighten things up, eh?"

"Not interested." She finally ground out.

"Not interested..."

"Nope, now fuck off." She said with finality.

"Not even if I said I knew who you were."

Krissal froze, glancing towards his smug grin. She stood up, grabbing a pack of cash from her pocket, slamming it down on the bar top, and grabbing her beer. She looked him dead in the eyes. "Not even slightly." She growled, before turning and walking towards the door. As much as she wanted to punch him, that would only draw attention.

Attention she wanted to avoid.

She missed him pulling out a satellite phone, dialing a quick number that only he knew. "Hey." He greeted when someone answered on the other line. "You're never going to believe I just ran into..."

[Eikangaard]

Royal Union of Eikangaard

She kept up a brisk pace, and it wasn't actually because of the all-consuming cold. Krissal was being hunted, and she had to keep moving if she wanted a hope in hell of surviving. It wasn't even a case of seeing people shadowing her out of the corner of her eye, but because she'd seen the headlines. She was the target of a manhunt, and seeing as how the Republic, who had started the whole manhunt to begin with, had been the ones to let her go, she had a gut feeling that if they caught her, they wouldn't be putting her in cuffs.

But there were some shadowy figures following her, as cliched as it was. She spotted them form time to time, moving from alley to alley, small crowd to small crowd. She had no idea how many of them there were, but she could count at least three of them. Even though they could probably try and catch up to her, they seemed unwilling to act with all the people around, possibly to avoid making a scene for whatever reason. Then again, she didn't much feel like making a scene either lest some take their side and try to pin her down for that sweet, sweet reward money. Maybe they were worried about the opposite, the crowd turning against them out of a sense of loyalty to the crown?

Either way, she was still outnumbered and she wasn't willing to risk the selfless nature of the average good samaritan. So for now, it was all about playing a delaying game. The crowd was her only defense right now, if she tried to break for the alleys they'd move in, and without knowing how many pursuers she picked up that would probably lead to her getting cornered and most likely killed. So she moved without any other aim than to keep herself in the crowd until she could hopefulyl find a relatively crowded place to duck into and hopefully shake them off that way.

It was her only - !

Krissal stumbled, trying to keep her balance when a hand suddenly clamped down on her shoulder, pulling her into the alley she'd been walking past. Reflex took over, drilled into her after years of Muay Thai classes, and as she spun her fist buried itself in the her attacker's gut. He wheezed, doubling over and relinquishing his hold on her shoulder. She slugged him in the jaw, and her stumbled back, collapsing against the wall.

She hadn't knocked him out, but she couldn't stick around to finally clock him. She could hear footsteps approaching, and it sounded like they were running. Probably her pursuers. She bolted down the alleyway, forget the crowds now. They wouldn't provide any protection. Now it was just run and hope she could outlast them.

She ran through the alley, across the street and into another alley on the other side. She turned at the intersection between the many buildings, and weaved between the maze of back alleys and side streets. She glanced over her shoulder, spotting three men charging after her.

She had to lose them somehow.

Said somehow came in the form of an old abandoned factory building. She shoulder-checked the old rotten door open, stumbling momentarily as she caught herself. She found a set of steps leading to a catwalk, and broke for them. She took the steps two at a time even as she heard her pursuers follow her into the building. She took the first right on the catwalk, boots thudding against the corrugated steel underfoot.

She spotted a pipe wrench sitting up against the railing. Why there was an old rusted pipe wrench sitting there was anyone's guess, but she grabbed it. It was something she could use to defend herself with at the very least. At least these guys didn't seem to have any guns, otherwise they'd have likely used them by now. She hit the brakes, turning on her first pursuer, winding back to swing the wrench at his head. He hadn't expected her to stop, scrambling to halt his forward momentum and leaving him open to take the wrench across the jaw.

She heard a crack. He stumbled to the side, overbalancing over the railing, and falling screaming to the factory floor below. The second one came around, a much squirrelier man that wore a jacket that seemed two sizes two big for him. She caught the glint of a knife in his hands. He lunged at her, she stepped back, hand snapping out to grab his wrist. He tried to pull back, but instead found her knee driven into his stomach.

Then the wrench came down on his hand. Bones cracked and he cried out in pain. She kicked him back, getting enough room to swing the wrench into his jaw. Her fell backwards, groaning through a mouthful of broken teeth. She prepared to try and fight off the third one, pausing in confusion when she didn't see him charging her. She only realized too late that she could hear footsteps behind her. Arms wrapped around her midsection, pinning both of her arms at her sides. The attacker pushed on her, apparently trying to knocked her over onto her stomach. Her was strong enough to keep her arms pinned, and from the weight pressing down on her back, he was proably a construction worker or something. He just had a lot of upper-body strength to use.

Not able to use her arms, and having no room to really use her legs, she did the only thing she could do. She slammed her head backwards, pain flaring when she made contact with his face. He stumbled backwards, grip loosening slightly but not enough for her to break free. So she did it again, smashing her skull into his nose. He finally let go, and she rounded on the mountain of a man who'd tried to take her down. She didn't bother with a slug to the nose, what with his hands still near his face and thus in a position to protect it. Instead, she used her wrench to break his knee. He collapsed to the ground, and then another swing of the wrench to the head and he collapsed.

Breathing heavily, Krissal moved on. She'd spotted only three of them plus the one she'd knocked down in the alley. And the guy in the alley hadn't shown up. He might still be out there, waiting for his moment to jump her. So she kept a grip on her wrench as she found a set of stairs leading down to the ground floor. Ducking out another door, which wasn't actually locked surprisingly, and back into the open air. She kept an eye out for the fourth pursuer, she began moving back towards the main streets.

She needed a goddamn drink after this...

[Eikangaard]

Republic of Eikangaard

"Congratulations Mr.President. That was a wonderful acceptance speech."

"Thank you Mr.Thaksin." Said Arthur Albinson, newly appointed President of the Republic of Eikangaard. He was a very tall man at 6'7", and equally broad-shouldered. He towered over most other people, even in Eikangaard, where people averaged a couple inches over the global average. He adjusted his glasses, pushing them up higher on his nose, before running a hand over his short-cut hair, the distinctive 'M' shape on his hairline indicative of male-pattern baldness. A contented smirk graced his lips as more aides and Republican Servicemen encircled him. "I suppose I should also congratulate you on your promotion."

Mr. Thaksin, an immigrant from a south-eastern nation in Sunalaya, chuckled. "I'm rather surprised, Mr.President." He said, sunglasses glinting as they passed under a light overhead. "I thought that upper government positions would be barred to people born in a foreign country."

"Pfeh." Albinson spat. "That's a bunch of racist bullshit. You're a good man with a good head on your shoulders. As far as I'm concerned that's good enough for me." Albinson reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a lighter and a cigar. Bringing the cigar to his lips, he lit it, taking two puffs before blowing the smoke from his nose. "So, how's our timetable?"

"On schedule." Said Thaksin. "We're building our case for Communist sympathies in the Technocratic party."

"Not hard, considering they might as well be Commie." Albinson interrupted. "How long until we can go ahead?"

"If all goes according to plan? Next week." Thaksin reported. "And considering their dealings with the Futurist Party, we have enough to also build a case against some of their members."

"Enough to gives a majority in the Senate?" Albinson asked.

"Enough to give us effective control of the senate." Thaksin stated.

Albinson chuckled, pulling the cigar from his mouth as he and Thaksin approached the motocade. "Keep me posted Thaksin. The future of the republic depends on this."

"Of course Mr. President." Said Thaksin as Albinson eased into the backseat of the large black SUV. "I'll let you know when we plan to go ahead."

"Good man." Said Albinson as the Serviceman closed the door for him. A few moments later, the motorcade took off towards the Presidential residence. Albinson, inspecting the cigar in his hands, mulled over his plans for the future. "Future of the Republic..." He stuck the cigar back in his mouth. "It's gonna be one hell of a time."

[Eikangaard]

Eikangaard

The bar was quiet. It was well into the early hours of the morning, and most of the partiers had gone home having drunk themselves into a stupor. The Ashukali nightlife was winding down as many prepared to try and catch a few hours of sleep before having to face the day. Maybe actually try and clean themselves up after they inevitably felt the effects of their late-night romps before coming into work.

But one still sat at the bar, putting down the meager remains of her funds on more drink. Anything to distract her from her lot in life. After all, she'd gone from living the high life to wearing the threadbare remains of a t-shirt and pants that didn't quite fit right. She was out of place in the establishment, even if it wasn't a strictly high-class locale. More so when she didn't look at all like a local. Pale skin, blue eyes, more angular features. Her frankly astounding height.

But she was paying for her drink, so the bartender didn't kick her out.

She placed the latest empty shot glass down on the bar top, adding her tenth to the line of glasses she'd been making for the past hour. She picked up another glass, tipped the bottle over and filled it, before setting the bottle back down on the counter. She stared at the tiny glass filled with liquid, before admitting that it was starting to get harder to do this on her own.

She barely noticed as someone else sat down in the stool next to her.

"Well...can't say I expected to find you here." the stranger stated, making the drunkard stiffen as much as her alcohol-addled body could. She recognized that voice, even if she no-longer recognized the face. The stranger took one of the unused glasses still sitting on the table, grabbed the bottle and poured herself a shot. "Would've thought they'd find you as a half-eaten corpse out in the wilderness." She said, taking a hold of her shot and gazing expectantly at the drunk.

"And I would'a thought they'd 'a buried you inna shoebox." the drunk fired back, struggling to lift up her own shot glass. "But here we are..."

As one the two downed their shots and added two more glasses to the line.

"So what're y' here for?" The drunk asked as the stranger picked up two new glasses and filled her own. "Y'here t' kill me?"

"Yes, because starting my new lease on life being convicted of murder is a perfect way to start things off." The stranger moved to pour a glass for the drunk, only to have the latter snatch it away. The stranger handed over the bottle for the drunk to pour her own glass. "If I did that, I might as well just jump off the nearest bridge and get it over with."

The drunk said nothing as she knocked back her twelfth shot of the night, making the stranger finally question how this woman could possibly still be alive, let alone conscious. The bottle being slammed onto the table wasn't exactly weak stuff.

"So what then?" The drunk slurred, lying down on the countertop to try and keep her head from spinning. "Y' come in 'ere to lord it over me? Se what kinda fuckin' fuck up I turned out t'be?"

"Something like that, yes." The stranger replied, setting her now empty shot glass on the counter.

The drunk let out a mirthless laugh. "Glad I coul' make ya feel bedder." The stranger wasn't about to admit that it wasn't making her feel any better. Mostly she just felt pity, staring at someone she should despise. That pity turned to concern when the drunk finally passed out and slipped off her stool, forcing the stranger to lunge in and catch her.

An errant thought creeped into her mind, as she hoisted the drunk up and started trying to carry her out of the bar. "This would be funny if it wasn't so pathetic..."

[Eikangaard]

Eikangaard

She groaned and rolled over as the sunlight hit her eyelids, dragging her kicking and screaming back to the world of the conscious. She very much didn't want to be awake right now. Her head was pounding and her stomach felt like it was busy trying to break the record for consecutive backflips. That...that was a hangover. And a really bad one. Not the worst she's had, but comparing the two was like comparing a bag full of rabid weasels, and a bag full of rabid badgers. Yes, one would hurt more than the other, but that doesn't mean she'd want to take on either without the proper protection. Or take them on at all for that matter.

Of course, the sun had already done its damage, and she found herself too awake to return to the land of the dreaming. She sat up, throwing off the covers of her bed. She opened her eyes and got a good view of the room she was in.

Oh, wait...she didn't actually have a bed. This was someone else's. How the hell had she gotten here? The last she remembered she was at the bar and...oh right.

She'd run into her. Of all the people she'd had to run into, it had to be her.

But then that left the question of who the hell had dragged her back to their house?

She slid out of bed, having the pleasant surprise of still being dressed. She could even feel the weight of the remaining money she had n her pocket. Great, she had that going for her at least. Now if only the room would stop spinning and the light stopped acting like daggers.

Opening the door, she had to blink away the sunlight that speared into her eyes from the hallway. Who the fuck designs their upstairs hallway to be nothing but windows anyway? You could at least put in a few blinds to keep the sunlight out and spare those who felt like they were dying? Trying her best to block out the sun, she headed down the hallway into a walkway that overlooked a large main space. A small living room was set up on the main floor and she could hear what sounded like someone working away in the kitchen.

Said kitchen wasn't that hard to find. Down the stairs, take a right, boom there we go. Problem was, who was in it.

"You!" She shouted, which only served to highlight a newfound sensitivity to noise.

"Yes me." Said the woman sitting at the kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal. "Surprised you're up, considering how much you drank yesterday."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Krissal asked, dropping her voice to a level she could at least tolerate.

"This is my house." Said Janet-Fucking-Maass like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The woman who was supposed to have been given the mother of all parting gifts when she stopped being the Premier for the Eikangaard United Socialist Republic. Said Former-Premier gave her a puzzling look. "You didn't seem this amazed by the discovery when I found you in that dive bar."

"In my defense, I was amazingly drunk."

Janet let out a chuckle. "So you were." She stood up and moved towards one of the many cupboards around the kitchen. "Did you want something for breakfast? I can get you something light if you're stomach's upset."

"Don't bother," Krissal said. "I'll be leaving anyway."

"Are you sure?" Came the questioning response. "You don't want to maybe eat something?" That smug fucking grin slowly spread across the face of the woman who should very much be acting like her mortal enemy right now. "Or a shower.

Krissal paused. A shower would be amazing right now. How long had it been since she'd even had access to hot water? Since she'd been in prison? No, longer. There'd always been a lack of hot water in the prison showers. Because apparently inmates didn't even get that luxury.

Add onto that the possibility of even a little bit of food? She was being tempted.

"How do I know you aren't gonna poison me?" She asked, before mentally smacking herself for sounding so incredibly dumb.

Janet's eyeroll was just pouring salt in the wound. "Yes, because I clearly want you dead after letting you crash in my guest room to sleep off the bourbon."

"So then why are you helping me?"

"Because you look pathetic," Janet answered plainly without missing a beat. "You're so hungover you're barely standing, you smell like you've lived in a sewer for two months, and you look like you've barely slept or eaten anything in days. You're so beat up that there's basically nothing else I can do but try and help."

That stung. It stung because it was true. She basically had been sleeping in whatever crack she could find since stowing away on that container ship and landing in Ashukal. She had basically no money, no history, and tried to drown er sorrows like she always did with what was left. Copious amounts of booze.

"Now for god's sake, sit down and eat something that isn't Guinness." Janet ordered, dragging out a bowl, a spoon, and a carton of milk as Crissal found a seat. "You're welcome to stay until you can find your own place."

"Gonna be hard to do that when you have no ID." Krissal shot back, pouring herself a bowl.

"I have some friends that might be able to help with that actually." Janet offered. "But before were even think about doing that, you're gonne need a shower. And maybe a new set of...everything."