MNM's Solstice Dystopian Happy Horror Show / IC / Closed

[Western Fardelshufflestein]

Ah, of course there was a greeting from the Leader via video call--a telescreen, more like--with the customary not-so-friendly reminder that they were all being painstakingly tracked. Wilhelm ignored the flipping in his stomach and struggled to focus on what the Leader (as he insisted they call him) was saying, but he was too exhausted and the caffeine from the tea had not kicked in. He had a suspicion it would not.

Big Brother/Leader initiated a Q&A with the guests; Wilhelm tuned out the vehement response from one of the military delegates, disinterested in whatever the man had to say. He hadn't a notion of what sort of question Leader expected of his guests, or what the consequences would be if someone asked the wrong type of query. From his research and the application of common sense, he knew the lèse-majesté laws here would be stringent. Yet refusing to participate could be taken as a sign of disdain for the Leader, which of course Wilhelm had, but he was not rash enough to showcase such sentiments. He was no longer twenty-five; he was forty, closing in on forty-one. He had scraps of maturity and the restraint to hold his tongue when the situation was necessary and he was not heated. Delirium slowed his reaction and his temper, so he could keep himself in check, at least for now.

He prayed the Leader would fail to notice him.

He feels less wretched today, which is rather fortunate considering he must go to work. He still cannot purge the disjointed memories of Halloween from his mind, fears he never will, not at present. He must live with the consequences his actions brought.

What he fails to understand is how he wound up in such a compromising situation. He would never do something like that, not when he's built up his resolve the way he has. Never with a government official. Especially not when his entire world is rapidly falling apart.

His idiot brother caused all of this to a degree. His illness and the desire for levity are what inspired him and Marie to plan the shindig in the first place. And the kindness of their acquaintances and friendly rapport with Alastair led to their visiting his hospital room to give him words of encouragement as though he had any chance of recovery. That, in turn, provided the prime opening for successive terrorist attacks, and now...well, now he is racked with guilt.

Worse yet, he'll have to pick up Sophia from school this afternoon and fabricate a story about a great Halloween weekend. His daughter cannot know about any of this. She's eight, and her impression of Halloween is colored with the fantasy of childhood. He refuses to be the one who shatters that.
He'll have to prevaricate and tell her he's sleep-deprived as opposed to hungover.

Is it feasible for a hangover to last two days, or is this something else? He cannot be sure. All he knows is that his head throbs, he's nauseous, and he's resentful toward Alastair and toward himself. Combine that with the fact that he must go to work, and he is downright miserable. He is well-equipped with a myriad excuses as to his rotten mood that consist of half-truths, ones that skirt around reality and imply his plight is triggered by his brother, which it is. However, the mishap that could dismantle his reputation and has already unraveled his personal life is none of his colleagues' business.

Were Father still alive, he'd look upon Wilhelm with scorn. His eyes would read, I raised thee better, yet the rest of his face would be doleful, pitying. He'd bring Wil into his private office for a chat, and he'd impart some life lesson or another upon him that he should have uncovered twenty years ago. Wil would leave the conference dissatisfied, shouldering the knowledge that he had let his father down, he'd failed, but his temper would not be alight.

Wilhelm vividly remembers stepping into that office nine years ago, fulfilling the parable of the prodigal son with his feet firmly planted within the palace property line. Father had been at his desk, and he'd looked up to see who had entered. Whoever he had been expecting, 'twas not Wil, for the shock on his visage had been evident, and he'd leapt to his feet and enveloped Wilhelm in a crushing hug. Father had started sobbing as he'd held Wilhelm close, and his bout of tears had infected Wil, and he'd caressed Wil for the longest time until he sat Wilhelm down on his duvet and started a conversation with him. Wil remembers the gleam in Father's eyes at the sight of him, the way he'd lovingly patted Wil's shoulder and welcomed him.

Father was the paradigm of a modern-day philosopher king; Wilhelm is the standard second-born prince. He was bound to end up this way, gritting his teeth through an extended hangover with his satchel slung over his shoulder as he plots a lie to tell his illegitimate daughter. He brought all of this upon himself. In the end, there is no one else to blame.

[Kiu Ghesik]

Patyu.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
The Hotel, the Ministry. July 4. Morning.

For Patyu, the morning did not come at once. Rather it came slowly, Patyu like a fish slowly swimming through the great warm sea of dreams, swaddled in sensation as she moved towards the dawn. First it was bursts of feeling- heat. Light. Colors. Whorls. Swirling feelings drifting on a tide of sunlight. Mottled golden dew settling on a bedspread. The beating of a small, nervous heart. A second beat coming in time, wrapped around the first. Beauty. Aching. Heartbreak. Rebirth. Love. Love that resolved itself, love that grew and grew as she drew closer to the light; love that coalesced into a pale, serene face wreathed in golden locks of hair. The feeling of Raya's arm wrapped around her waist held her tight, her girlfriend's chin resting on Patyu's shoulder, and for a moment she felt hesitant to move. Slipping one slim arm out of Raya's grip she gingerly reached back and ran her fingers through her hair, and then after a moment's pause Raya's chin.

Now it was Raya's turn to stir. Her eyes fluttered open, her black lashes laying stark against the blonde of her hair, and out of the corner of her eye Patyu saw a warm smile creep onto her face. After a moment's recognition her mouth opened, and a melody whispered out into Patyu's ear: "Hey, songbird."

Taking Raya's hand in her own and snuggling deeper into the bed, Patyu blushed, what she imagined was the dumbest smile imaginable engraved on her face. "Hey."

A pause, and an eternity passed. The two lay there underneath the sheets wrapped in each other's arms, neither willing to disturb the moment they shared. But nonetheless it had to end. Regretfully disentangling herself from Raya's embrace, Patyu scooted up the bed into a seated position, clasping the sheets as close to herself as she could without hogging Raya's share. Her eyes, she found, drifted almost immediately to Raya now that her girlfriend was in sight, and the two of them shared a longing glance, Raya adjusting herself so one arm propped her head up at Patyu.

"So, uh," Patyu started. "H... how'd you sleep?"

"With you? Perfectly." A self-assured grin crept onto Raya's face, chasing the sleep from her eyes. Evidently she was rather proud of that one. Patyu couldn't help but break into a tittering giggle, clutching the sheets to her face to mask her grin, and soon that giggle was one Raya shared.

Gently the blonde-haired woman put out one hand and pulled the sheets away from her brunette paramour, the other pulling Patyu down into another hug. Patyu's laugh slowly drifted off into the past, an eager silence filling the air between them. "So," Raya whispered, "How're you doing today?"

"Wishing today was still last night," Patyu shot back. "And, uh..." Her hand drifted from Raya's shoulder to a soft hand just feeling the touch of a morning chill. Their palms pressed together, and Patyu's heart skipped a beat. "...wondering if this place has room service?"

Raya's eyes narrowed, a thin, knowing smile growing on her face. "Are you..?" Softly Patyu nodded. As a matter of habit Raya's eyes darted to the clock- and sharply widened. "I, uh, I don't think we've got any time."

"What? What is it?" Concerned Patyu disengaged from her embrace to look at the analog clock hanging above a minimalist portrait on the wall. Oh, god. "Ah. They, uh, they said breakfast was at seven, yeah? Promptly?"

"Mrm-hm."

"And that clock does say 7:08, yeah? I'm remembering my numbers right?"

"Yep."

"Ah. Well, uhm, t-that's a bit of an issue."

"Yep."

Patyu wasn't sure precisely who leaped out of bed first, but it was a close call either way. She threw off her shirt, hardly caring for where it landed, and hastily pulled the cream-white, loose-fitting top she'd packed for today on over her shoulders in its place. Thank god I showered last night, she thought as her tail whipped behind her in agitation- would've taken at least thirty minutes to get everything looking nice. In a rather impressive display of synchronicity, she somehow managed to run a comb through her hair and pull on a familiar pair of soft velveteen skinny jeans at the same time, both tasks pushed out of the way in under a minute and a half. It was only a few more minutes to push aside those other basic necessities of hygiene for the both of them to reach a presentable state and skip out the door. In fact, Patyu timed with racing heart, the elevator was the longest single uninterrupted block of time she had to think between 7:00 and 7:30 in the morning.

And there was certainly no shortage of things to think about- yet one in particular loomed large in her mind. Or not a thing but rather a person- Ari. Her ateghn. The last the two of them had met face to face had been seven months ago, at a horrid, bloody monstrosity of an event masquerading as a Christmas party that Patyu had done her best to forget. Too many faces she'd rather not have associated with those two days. Sure, they'd talked over the phone, but Ari was here, now, and Patyu was finally faced with the realization that she would have to size herself up as a stranger to the woman she'd told herself she'd stick by until the bitterest end. What would Ari think of her? Would she even recognize Patyu? It had been a while, after all, and Patyu had had quite a lot happen to her. Far too much for any one lifetime. Her heart, she noted with a mind miles away, was once more racing in her breast. Her hand too found its way to nest tightly in Raya's once more.

As the elevator slid to a stop on the ground floor, she turned with nervous eyes to look up at her girlfriend, an anxious mirror of what twenty minutes ago had been the serenest thing in the world. "Are y-you sure it's not too late to get room service? I saw last night in the front d-desk that they had it..."

Raya sighed, and reassuringly squeezing Patyu's hand pulled the shorter woman towards whatever lay ahead. "Yeah. Now come on, it'll be fine. I'm right here with you, always."

[Main Nation Ministry]

Nate was tempted to roll his eyes but then quickly remembered that rolling your eyes at the mention of the Leader was probably enough to get you killed (or worse) here, so he just smiled. "Well, it's not exactly like anyone's gonna tell the Leader 'no,' is it?" And then to appease the microphone that was inevitably listening in on their conversation, "I must admit, though, the Leader does have good taste. It's certainly timeless, that's for sure." He paused. "You're two questions down, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

Nate shot her a glance. "I've asked you two personal questions. Aren't you gonna return the favor?"

"I mean..."

"Come on, ask me something. I can handle it, you know." He adjusted his sunglasses. "I'll make it three for you: what do you like to do in your free time? Surely you have some other hobbies, interests, stuff like that?"

Nate was aware of the absolute militarized police state of the nation, though he wasn't sure where they hid their damn microphones. Perhaps in the flowers, but Nate couldn't make a scene. If he was trying not to. He was being a bit aggressive with Rachael, though she didn't know how she felt. Nate was starting to get a little personal with her, but she didn't want to derail the tour.

"How about we head over to our next stop? I can share my interests along the way." Rachael said, thinking it will calm Nate down. "Well, I do enjoy the violin. I was thinking of renting some lessons in the Fall, just to play it, though I need to get my neighbor's permission first. Don't really want to get a complaint. I was also in the photography club back when I was a teen, though I tend to only take photos for the brochures here at the gardens. Then, there's that time I used to go to the theatre. I'm not an actress, though I don't think I be able to go beyond being an amateur." Rachael remarked, though she tried to sound as truthful as possible.

The two were at the next stop for the tour, which was another display, though this was more outdoors. It was a mixture of yellow, pink, and white. A prop moon was above the display for guests to see. "This is our nightly display. All of these flowers bloom when the sun is down, however they are still in their lovely forms during the day. An orientally selection of evening primroses, foamflowers, four o' clocks, and of course, night-blooming jasmine." Rachael said, as she started to switch sides with the conversation.

"I shared you my interests and hobbies. I'm not trying to be a boring woman, but I would like to know what your own hobbies and interests are. You seemed so eager, so I want to hear it from you on what your tastes are." Rachael gave a tiny smirk, being a bit playful with Nate.

[Socialist Macronesia]

Nate smirked back, and then remembered that his current personal interests were primarily committing criminal acts. He paused for a second and thought his options through. What do I say? I can't just be honest here, can I? Should I make something up? What were my interests before... all of this? Mentally, he was slamming his head on the table, and physically, he was standing here with somebody who was potentially expressing mild interest in him! He mentally made a note of this and then went back to slamming his head on the table.

And then, a breakthrough! Involuntarily, he began to speak.

"Well, I'm from Socialist Macronesia. I was a member of the most elite special operations force in the country, trained in conducting covert and overt operations against forces with large technical and tactical advantages..." And then, realizing that this probably wasn't the best sentence to use, he laughed. "Er... At least that's just what I tell pretty girls." And then realizing that he'd fucked this conversation up far beyond the point of no return, he added a "Like you." He forced himself from blushing and continued. "I guess I like reading, traveling, meeting new people, hanging out with my work friends and... doing things together. I've been going on a long trip recently, actually. Spent a bit of time in Somalia, Afghanistan, and a couple other nations in Africa and the Middle East. Did a bit of work out there, learned a bit of Arabic and Dari, got to have some good food, generally enjoyed myself, and got to really connect with the culture and the people. I'm probably going to head back there after... this... section of my trip." He turned from her and scanned across the floral arrangement. "Oh, this is quite nice. I must say, you keep outdoing yourselves." And then he turned back to her. "Anyway, you said you liked photography? One of my friends from Macronesia likes photography. I think she's supposed to be here today. Along with a few... other individuals in my life who like taking pictures." He turned and glanced back at the flowers. "Individuals... who like to post said pictures on social media for everyone to see..." He gave her a troubled glance. "With... their... _{girlfriend...}"

"What was that?" He turned back to her. Ignoring the fact that she was fairly red at the moment, he smirked at her and finished his statement.

"Don't worry about it. Anyway, you're still two questions down. Come on, ask me something."

"I think we ought to continue with the to--"

Harnessing his inner John Ross, he smiled and cut her off. "To be entirely honest with you, I didn't want a tour just to look at the beautiful flowers, although they are definitely quite lovely. I mostly wanted to get to know you better."

"Why me?"

"You looked interesting. Still do. And you're nice. And knowledgeable. I suppose the pretty face doesn't hurt, either. So, Miss Thorne, what do you want to know about me?" he replied, using the energy he'd acquired from a decade of being around the president of Macronesia. "You can talk as we're walking to our next stop. You want to know about my jo-- er... I mean... about my personal life, my friends, why I'm here of all places? You've got to have at least some questions."

[Brettenwald]

"Thank you, it's nice to meet you, Wil- your hi- Mr.- what should I call you, anyway? We're both princes but the age gap, you know-" Paris broke off in his haste to retrieve a rapidly burning waffle with an air of serious embarrassment. "If you're here by yourself you're welcome to sit with us."

Wilhelm considered for a moment. "I suppose Wilhelm is fine in zis context," he decided, coolly regarding the younger prince. Well, that was one thing they had in common, was it not? He watched the man barely save a waffle from the hotel waffle maker, clumsily tossing it onto a paper plate ere it became to burnt to consume. Wilhelm knew a bit about cooking, seeing as he lived in an apartment devoid of palace staff, so he found the spectacle slightly amusing.

He deflected his enjoyment of the scene by thinking about Alastair.

"If you're here by yourself, you're welcome to sit with us." Paris was turning the shade of a pomegranate. His waffle, whilst not horribly burned, was a little browner than it should be but definitely palatable. Were Wilhelm not so lost in his jet lag and anxiety, he would have almost certainly offered to take it and make Paris another.

"Well, I suppose. I can meet ze rest of your family...I am afraid I have forgotten zeir names..." Wilhelm managed a pained smile. He took another sip of his tea, realized it was becoming tepid, sighed, and poured more from the pitcher to top it off. 'Twas convenient the waffle maker was near the drink station, no? "I'm not here on diplomatic business. I am just here because...well. My family thought I needed a getaway for a bit. And zey were right." He hesitated, sucked in his cheek. His teeth gnawed a bit at the flesh inside his mouth, not so hard as to leave impressions that would swell, but just enough that he felt it. The mouth was so sensitive, reacting to anything from heat to sugar and poor hygiene, more so than other parts of the body, he observed. Damage to anything there did not remain hidden as it did in, say, the liver.

He followed Paris back to the table and took a seat, accompanied by nothing but his cup of tea. The tea was alright as far as crappy hotel teas went, and was certainly not the worst he'd tasted. That award went to a tea he'd had with ice, American style, although he'd been in Canada at the time. North America was truly an odd place.

Another man took his seat beside Wilhelm with a plate piled with bacon and eggs, and--were those mushrooms?--sat there patiently. Wilhelm belatedly realized 'twas the man who had sat next to him on the shuttle last night. Leo, his name was. Wilhelm gave him a tentative greeting and returned to his tea, hoping the jolt of caffeine swirling within the liquid would wake him up.

Helena blinked, quickly composing herself as Paris brought Wilhelm over. "Hello, you're... Prince Wilhelm? I wouldn't have expected you here. I had part of a paper you wrote on Othello assigned as a reading in an English class two semesters ago, so I remember your name and face but nothing else. It's nice to meet you, I'm Princess Helena Cärrino. I see you've already met Paris." The larger brother nodded through a mouthful of bacon and paused to follow it with a deep draught of another cup of black coffee. "Crown Prince Marco Cärrino," he said after clearing his throat in what might have surprised Wilhelm as the most giga-Chad bass voice like honey over thunder he'd ever heard, reaching across the table for a very firm handshake. "How's Alastair doing?"

Sarah considered, at least for a few seconds after Helena walked in, that she might try to eat her waffles in a more "ladylike" manner but the desire to look "ladylike" in front of everyone was quickly overcome by the desire to enjoy herself. And how was she supposed to enjoy herself if she had to eat a waffle with a fork and knife? Besides, she hadn't put any syrup on it anyway, so she considered a food perfectly optimized for eating with your hands. Of course, trying to swallow it whole like a snake or Jacob was a bit excessive, but eating it like a large, more bread-y chocolate chip cookie? That was the peak of waffle eating strategies.

Oh, right, Helena's here.

Fortunately, Sarah wasn't a complete dumbass at reading people. Picking up the plate of her half eaten waffle and fried eggs, she walked over to her and Marco's table and sat down right in front of Helena.

"You know, I was hoping I'd see you here, Helena. How'd you sleep last night?" She bit a chunk out of her waffle. "Oh, and have you got any plans for today?"

Jacob stood up from his table. "Lady, whatever your name is. Helena—"

"Excuse him."

"—I think what Sarah's trying to do is this thing called 'trying to hang out.' You see, she's probably romantically and sexually interested in y—"

"Jacob, I swear to holy fuck, if you say one more word, I will... oh, shit."

Jacob picked up his third Belgian waffle and grinned. "Oh, don't be one of those people that's never cussed out someone that outranks them. I cussed out my commanding officer once when I was seventeen and I ended up getting a promotion out of it!"

"Jacob, one, I don't even want to ask how old you were when you came to Macronesia. Two, nobody is as stupid, lucky, or stupidly lucky as you."

"I was sixteen. Which technically doesn't violate UN protocol on child soldiers..."

Sarah sighed. "Jacob, when you feel the need to specify that something doesn't technically violate international law, you probably should not do that thing."

"It's called 'morally grey,' Sarah." Jacob begun trying to fit the whole waffle into his mouth. "Mhmhmm hmhm hmhmn mhmhnmhmhkk mhnhngm hmhm gmmhmhm. Mhmmhm hmhmhm."*

"Whatever. So yeah, Helena. What was I going to ask you again? I forgot."

_{*Roughly translated from Czech: Morally grey is the line that divides what a lawyer says is okay and what the public says is okay, and the opposite. You should try it sometime.}

"Don't worry about it," Helena said, stifling a tinkling, crystalline laugh with her hand before taking another sip of her orange juice. Romantically and sexually interested?

Sarah, she decided firmly, had possibilities. It wouldn't do to repeat the Shindig thing, one didn't want to make that much of a scene, but there were ways. And she was very much her type, she'd come to conclude.

"I was hoping I'd see you here too, and I had an excellent night's sleep. Assuming you were going to ask me what my plans were for the day, I don't know. Assuming you were going to ask me out," the princess added with another, far more obviously flirtatious look, "my guess is that we're having some form of bachelorette party for Ari, so we're likely stuck with that taking up our evening."

But we certainly don't have to stay until the bitter end, and dance floors have their dark corners...

"The hotel gave me a voucher for a hot spring, so if that interests you I'll just give it to you and pay my own way. No, please, I insist," she said as Sarah seemed ready to object not to the day out but to its financial arrangements. "I'd be a poor host if I made you pay and kept my freebie."

Patyu.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
The Hotel, the Ministry. July 4. Morning.

For Patyu, the morning did not come at once. Rather it came slowly, Patyu like a fish slowly swimming through the great warm sea of dreams, swaddled in sensation as she moved towards the dawn. First it was bursts of feeling- heat. Light. Colors. Whorls. Swirling feelings drifting on a tide of sunlight. Mottled golden dew settling on a bedspread. The beating of a small, nervous heart. A second beat coming in time, wrapped around the first. Beauty. Aching. Heartbreak. Rebirth. Love. Love that resolved itself, love that grew and grew as she drew closer to the light; love that coalesced into a pale, serene face wreathed in golden locks of hair. The feeling of Raya's arm wrapped around her waist held her tight, her girlfriend's chin resting on Patyu's shoulder, and for a moment she felt hesitant to move. Slipping one slim arm out of Raya's grip she gingerly reached back and ran her fingers through her hair, and then after a moment's pause Raya's chin.

Now it was Raya's turn to stir. Her eyes fluttered open, her black lashes laying stark against the blonde of her hair, and out of the corner of her eye Patyu saw a warm smile creep onto her face. After a moment's recognition her mouth opened, and a melody whispered out into Patyu's ear: "Hey, songbird."

Taking Raya's hand in her own and snuggling deeper into the bed, Patyu blushed, what she imagined was the dumbest smile imaginable engraved on her face. "Hey."

A pause, and an eternity passed. The two lay there underneath the sheets wrapped in each other's arms, neither willing to disturb the moment they shared. But nonetheless it had to end. Regretfully disentangling herself from Raya's embrace, Patyu scooted up the bed into a seated position, clasping the sheets as close to herself as she could without hogging Raya's share. Her eyes, she found, drifted almost immediately to Raya now that her girlfriend was in sight, and the two of them shared a longing glance, Raya adjusting herself so one arm propped her head up at Patyu.

"So, uh," Patyu started. "H... how'd you sleep?"

"With you? Perfectly." A self-assured grin crept onto Raya's face, chasing the sleep from her eyes. Evidently she was rather proud of that one. Patyu couldn't help but break into a tittering giggle, clutching the sheets to her face to mask her grin, and soon that giggle was one Raya shared.

Gently the blonde-haired woman put out one hand and pulled the sheets away from her brunette paramour, the other pulling Patyu down into another hug. Patyu's laugh slowly drifted off into the past, an eager silence filling the air between them. "So," Raya whispered, "How're you doing today?"

"Wishing today was still last night," Patyu shot back. "And, uh..." Her hand drifted from Raya's shoulder to a soft hand just feeling the touch of a morning chill. Their palms pressed together, and Patyu's heart skipped a beat. "...wondering if this place has room service?"

Raya's eyes narrowed, a thin, knowing smile growing on her face. "Are you..?" Softly Patyu nodded. As a matter of habit Raya's eyes darted to the clock- and sharply widened. "I, uh, I don't think we've got any time."

"What? What is it?" Concerned Patyu disengaged from her embrace to look at the analog clock hanging above a minimalist portrait on the wall. Oh, god. "Ah. They, uh, they said breakfast was at seven, yeah? Promptly?"

"Mrm-hm."

"And that clock does say 7:08, yeah? I'm remembering my numbers right?"

"Yep."

"Ah. Well, uhm, t-that's a bit of an issue."

"Yep."

Patyu wasn't sure precisely who leaped out of bed first, but it was a close call either way. She threw off her shirt, hardly caring for where it landed, and hastily pulled the cream-white, loose-fitting top she'd packed for today on over her shoulders in its place. Thank god I showered last night, she thought as her tail whipped behind her in agitation- would've taken at least thirty minutes to get everything looking nice. In a rather impressive display of synchronicity, she somehow managed to run a comb through her hair and pull on a familiar pair of soft velveteen skinny jeans at the same time, both tasks pushed out of the way in under a minute and a half. It was only a few more minutes to push aside those other basic necessities of hygiene for the both of them to reach a presentable state and skip out the door. In fact, Patyu timed with racing heart, the elevator was the longest single uninterrupted block of time she had to think between 7:00 and 7:30 in the morning.

And there was certainly no shortage of things to think about- yet one in particular loomed large in her mind. Or not a thing but rather a person- Ari. Her ateghn. The last the two of them had met face to face had been seven months ago, at a horrid, bloody monstrosity of an event masquerading as a Christmas party that Patyu had done her best to forget. Too many faces she'd rather not have associated with those two days. Sure, they'd talked over the phone, but Ari was here, now, and Patyu was finally faced with the realization that she would have to size herself up as a stranger to the woman she'd told herself she'd stick by until the bitterest end. What would Ari think of her? Would she even recognize Patyu? It had been a while, after all, and Patyu had had quite a lot happen to her. Far too much for any one lifetime. Her heart, she noted with a mind miles away, was once more racing in her breast. Her hand too found its way to nest tightly in Raya's once more.

As the elevator slid to a stop on the ground floor, she turned with nervous eyes to look up at her girlfriend, an anxious mirror of what twenty minutes ago had been the serenest thing in the world. "Are y-you sure it's not too late to get room service? I saw last night in the front d-desk that they had it..."

Raya sighed, and reassuringly squeezing Patyu's hand pulled the shorter woman towards whatever lay ahead. "Yeah. Now come on, it'll be fine. I'm right here with you, always."

I mean, we're not egregiously late, Raya thought, as usual not even bothering to do anything to the blonde shag carpet of her hair and instead wriggling her way into a denim skirt and an Amy Winehouse graphic T-shirt. Since she and Patyu had gotten serious she'd even been sleeping better. She'd needed someone to hold for longer than she realized. Someone to hold, someone to love, someone who wasn't perfect but close enough to make the imperfect little more than a disturbed dust mote in a sunbeam: tiny and soon to disappear. Someone who'd turned out to be Patyu, and someone who'd made her whole again in ways she couldn't even begin to describe to you.

If she did have a more prominent worry than her girlfriend's mental health at this time it was Ari, she reflected as she stuffed her pockets with the day's necessary accoutrements: phone, car keys, room key, wallet. She wasn't necessarily scared of the tough, resolute nomad whom Patyu had made out to be something of a big sister stroke Wonder Woman figure in her old life, but... it was hard to explain. It was like meeting a friend's parents for the first time. Or more apropos, meeting a boyfriend/girlfriend's parents. Raya felt oddly like she needed Ari's approval, she wanted her to like her. After all, she was romantically involved with Ari's closest companion and confidante in the world, so this did matter more than a little.

Raya looked down into a pair of big, scared brown eyes and gave Patya's hand a gentle squeeze. "Are y-you sure it's not too late to get room service? I saw last night in the front d-desk that they had it..."

Ding, said the elevator bell with an air of sighing inevitability.

"Yeah. Now come on, it'll be fine," she said, hoping to hell that turned out to be true and making her way towards the dining room with catgirl in tow. "I'm right here with you, always."

One breakfast line later, the two joined the royal kids' table. "Hey, your highnesses. Sorry we're late. Also, what's with the femboy on the JumboTron?" She seemed to collect herself for a moment and turned towards an older, grumpily professorial-looking gentleman. "Hi. Raya Tamlin. Are you with these three? I didn't see you on the bus last night."

[Western Fardelshufflestein]

Helena blinked, quickly composing herself as Paris brought Wilhelm over. "Hello, you're... Prince Wilhelm? I wouldn't have expected you here. I had part of a paper you wrote on Othello assigned as a reading in an English class two semesters ago, so I remember your name and face but nothing else. It's nice to meet you, I'm Princess Helena Cärrino. I see you've already met Paris." The larger brother nodded through a mouthful of bacon and paused to follow it with a deep draught of another cup of black coffee. "Crown Prince Marco Cärrino," he said after clearing his throat in what might have surprised Wilhelm as the most giga-Chad bass voice like honey over thunder he'd ever heard, reaching across the table for a very firm handshake. "How's Alastair doing?"

"Hello, you're... Prince Wilhelm? I wouldn't have expected you here. I had part of a paper you wrote on Othello assigned as a reading in an English class two semesters ago, so I remember your name and face but nothing else. It's nice to meet you, I'm Princess Helena Cärrino. I see you've already met Paris."

Wilhelm knitted his eyes together, bemused. "I didn't...my specialty is Victorian literature...." He trailed off. "Zen again, zere was zat one time...April Fool's Day, 2017. We hatched ze plan in December over...well, none of us were sober, let us put it zat way." He blushed slightly at the soured memory. "I ended up writing a thesis on Othello...I did not realize 'twas good enough to be used in educational settings." He'd always thought of that paper as mediocre, but, then again, considering his royal status and WFian heritage, 'twas not surprising a foreign country would stumble upon his supbar research and find it brilliant.

"'Pleased to meet your acquaintance," he added belatedly. "And thank your for ze compliment."

Another fair-haired youth, the third Cärrino (their complexions were unmistakable), took a swig of coffee, peering at Wilhelm with watchful eyes. Crown Prince Marco Cärrino," he intoned, his voice far deeper than Wilhelm would have guessed. He'd be a bass in a choir if he could sing on key. Marco considered Wilhelm for another moment, then, after Wilhelm shook his hand, posed the query that was almost certainly on everyone's minds. "How's Alastair doing?"

Involuntarily, Wilhelm flinched. "He's..." How best to put this? "Still in rehab, for now. He might--we're to bring him home soon. He's more or less content for now, I hazard, but..." He heaved a sigh. Despite his great aptitude for the written word, none were coming to him now that felt adequate to describe his brother's situation. How could he articulate the hell Allie has been through when he did not fully process it himself?

"He wants to get better more zan anything. I have not seen him so driven in such a long time. Mentally, he has come a long way, but he's...well, he's not fully zere anymore. Cognitively, he struggles. But he is far less depressed zan he was five months ago, and he's made a friend in rehab, another patient. And everyone zere just...." He finished what remained of his tea to suppress the burning in his throat. His eyes stung, and the muscles in his neck ached from holding it all at bay.

He was avoiding the obvious statement, the one his acquaintances here at minimum know implicitly. Alastair is dying. He has far less time than they all thought, and Marie is panicking because she fears sending him to rehab was a massive mistake. Wilhelm disagrees on that front. He gets to witness the joyfulness of Alastair one last time ere he begins his final descent. And the only idea Wilhelm has to save his life is contingent upon too much, on supply and demand. On whether 'twould give Allie a good quality of life.

"We all adore him. We all want what is best for him. If zere is a way to...prolong his life, just for another year or two, I...I hope we have the opportunity to take 't. I have more or less forgiven him. It took time, far too much time, but my brother's life is more important zan my resentment."

He reached for his burner phone and slipped it out of its pocket so the Cärrinos could see. "I can call him in about...'tis seven now, and he wakes up at 8 am local time, so in six hours. I was going to video call him zen...presuming he does not call me first." Wilhelm attempted a wry smile, felt it flatten on his face, gave it up. "He has very low impulse control, and he gets excitable. But he is very friendly. I am not sure if any of you have met him, but he likely will not remember you if you did in October. His memory is...not good anymore. It can make conversations with him confounding, but I believe I understand him well enough, and he always has a nurse with him." His voice inexplicably cracked despite the will he exerted over his external emotions. "Not now, of course. 'Tis far too early back home...and here, for zat matter." He yawned. "I shall get more caffeine anon."

One breakfast line later, the two joined the royal kids' table. "Hey, your highnesses. Sorry we're late. Also, what's with the femboy on the JumboTron?" She seemed to collect herself for a moment and turned towards an older, grumpily professorial-looking gentleman. "Hi. Raya Tamlin. Are you with these three? I didn't see you on the bus last night."

Wilhelm blinked groggily, noted more people were standing there. Two people, females, one of them with a strong neko vibe. Well, at least he was not allergic to cat-human hybrids.

He was not keen on being interrupted, but he decided to respect the young woman, Raya, nonetheless. He needed to vastly improve his interpersonal skills as it was. "Not particularly, no. Zey more so know me through association, as does most everyone here." He paused. "You might have heard of my brother and sister-in-law. King Alastair and Queen Marie of Western Fardelshufflestein?" He tried to sip his tea, only to remember he had very recently finished it. Damn it. "On another note, what is a 'femboy?'"

[FenexOrg]

AIRSTRIP ONE
I don't know, I don't do time.

A ripple in time and space, a split in the heavens itself appeared in the halls. The portal would flicker in and out of existence for moments at a time, before fully materializing itself in reality.

Before the figures could even be visible, two voices could be heard from the portal’s entrance.

“Young Master, it’s been two whole months since the invitation was sent, we are running horribly behind schedule.” an older, more mechanical voice would say.

The reply earned a slight grumble from another individual inside the portal.

“Look, DELPHI. It’s not my fault that an important event came up in between!”

A boot would step out of the portal, bringing out both figures into light.

One of them was a machine around the size of a falcon, with a pale white surface with bright blue accents. Their clearly bird-like yet simultaneously robotic appearance blurred the line between animal and machine. The avian was perched on the right shoulder of the second person.

The second figure was none other than Sven Vasa himself. His long hair, usually kept loose and wild, was now neatly groomed into a low ponytail as was customary among Noregr nobility. He also wore lighter clothes as compared to his usual attire, as was befitting for the season in which the event took place.

“Are you sure that skirmish near the Charlemagne corridor needed your personal attention? Surely you could have sent one of the regional commanders. Besides, a loss near there would not be that disastrous to the war effort as a who-”

“Look DELPHI, Marisa was in the field. Both of us knows that she is a high-priority target. As much as I trust my subordinates, DELPHI, I do not fully expect them to be able to attain a certain level of victory against an opponent like Marisa. Also unlike what you like to insinuate, DELPHI, my motives for fi-”

“Is it insinuation if its true, dear Hegemon?”

“Someday I will kill you.”

“Young Master you literally made me this way.”

Sven would only sigh, his brows furrowing and for a moment his fist clenched. However, his ire soon dissipated and gave way to resignation.

“Well, I suppose so. In any case, DELPHI, can you tell me about the surrounding area?”

“Location seems to be an airport. Classification: Late Pre Calamity War technology. And...that's interesting…”

“What is it DELPHI?”

“Seems like two months was an exaggeration.”

“That actually is interesting, well, that is not too surprising considering time in the fields of heaven are...well…”

“Wibbly wobbly timey-whimey, sir?”

“Well...that is one way t- where did you even hear that?”

“Nothing, sir. Continuing on with the analysis it seems that the group that was supposed to be here is...nowhere to be found.”

“You don’t think they-”

“Sir, I believe we are, as most people shall put it, f*cking late.”

And so the journey of the young hegemon in this strange land would begin. Not in a bang as he may have hoped, or in a subdued entrance as he had accounted for, but with a groan and an hour or more at the customs office.

[Socialist Macronesia]

The screen that the Leader had been broadcasting on seconds ago had frozen up. One of the soldiers had begun ripping out the internals, mumbling something about how old this screen was and how he didn't get paid enough for what he did. Ross felt at ease for a second, then remembered that the Leader probably was still watching them and listening in on them from every other angle. It didn't fill him with much confidence.

"You look scared..." Ari grinned at him.

"Oh, please." Ross put on his tough face, the kind one gets after years of leading soldiers in combat. "I'm not scared of him... Well, maybe a little. Hey, you can't blame me. Look at this place. There's more soldiers in this room than are in all of Macronesia. If he wanted me gone, I would just be gone in an instant!" He snapped his fingers to emphasize his point. "Like that!"

Ari grabbed her waffle with one hand and tore a piece out with her teeth. "He doesn't scare me. I could probably take him in a fight." She mimed her fighting stance and a few mock punches. "Bam, bam, bam, down."

Ross sighed. "It's about the power you have in total, not just physical power. I'd probably lose in a one-on-one fight with you, but if you throw in the Macronesian army, that's not exactly even odds, now is it?"

Ari grinned. "I have an army as well, you know."

"Yeah, yeah." He smiled and scanned the room. Alex and Sean were having a friendly discussion of the merits of certain rifle cartridges: Sean with a plate of protein-packed eggs, sausage, and milk, and arguing that the 6.8x45mm had better ballistics at all ranges and required few changes to be made to existing 5.56x45mm rifles, while Alex had a plate of pancakes and bacon, a glass of coffee, and was arguing that existing calibers had more manufacturing capabilities and, although not as good ballistically, were more established rounds that were used by existing forces, and had proven themselves in fire, not on paper. Jacob was convulsing on his table while eating his seventh waffle. Ross couldn't tell if he was having a seizure, going into cardiac arrest, or choking, but he eventually stopped violently shaking and began to chow down on his eighth waffle. Sarah was talking to Helena, and while Ross couldn't tell what their conversation was about, after Jacob's insightful comments, he was pretty sure he could infer what it currently entailed. And back to Ari, "An army that still fights with swords and bows and horses."

And then a familiar face came through the breakfast line and sat down by the Brettenwald delegates.

"Hey, Ari, look who's over there by the royals."

---

"Well, thank you, Helena. I do appreciate the gift. I'll certainly be there if you're planning on coming." Her eyes twinkled and she continued. "I suppose I'll have to think of a way to repay you for this..." She leaned in and spoke quietly. "I don't suppose you're willing to accept... nontraditional forms of payment? I don't suppose I have anything financial to gift you back. Surely nothing you don't already have." She slipped her hand under the table and around Helena's. "Tell me, Princess Helena, where'd you learn to be so damn charming? I assume they don't teach you in college... They certainly haven't gotten around to teaching me any of that in med school." Oh, Jesus, someone get me a mimosa or something. This is going to be a looooooong day.

But not a bad one.

[Main Nation Ministry]

"Yeah, okay, so Mr. Leader. First of all, I'd like to thank you for inviting me here, alongside all of my compatriots. But secondly, I'd like to ask you a personal question: have you ever considered the fact that everyone in this room will inevitably die within the next hundred years or so and despite our best efforts, we shall all be forgotten by humanity, no matter our actions and words, and, slightly less importantly, that there will be a day that will be the last day we see each other for the rest of our lives, and that no matter how hard we try, it'll be the last time we speak with one another and we'll just have to go our separate ways? And third, is prostitution legal here?" Sarah rolled her eyes. Sean was about to say something but stopped. Jacob looked around at the now-silent room. "Oh come on, people. If I'm gonna die, I'd rather die in the arms of a succubus than in--"

Sean punched him in the arm. "Realistic question here. Where do you recommend we go first? I'm sure you have some suggestions for us, right?"

The Leader seemed intrigued at what Jacob had to say, since both seemed to share the same sense of cynicism together. However, Jacob was more of a hedonistic type than the Leader. "I don't do prostitution in this nation, since it would ruin our fine image. Perhaps if you're brave enough, you can pay a visit to the Ministry where I'm currently at. Or if you're one of those so-called sensible types, there's always Frolicker's World. Or better yet, there's Forest Sector 54. We dedicate ourselves to our greenery and the environment." the Leader explained, until he overheard Raya and Wilhelm mention the word "femboy". The Leader, having been called this, felt a nerve.

"You do realize it's rude to backtalk, you two?" the Leader said, gesturing at a soldier to come to the table where Raya and Wilhelm were. The soldier turned off the safety of his assault rifle, though he didn't aim it at the two of them. "Though you're lucky that you're tourists." the Leader said, as the soldier turned the safety back on. The Leader gave them a little scare, yet he was still unpredictable.

"I think it's best I wrap up this session, seeing how many of you are so eager to run away and explore. Those who do have questions for me. You just have to head deeper into the lion's den. I trust you all behave, as-" the Leader wanted to say some more, however there were some technical difficulties with the telescreen, as the soldier next to it had saw it freeze up, before going to static.

"Aw fu- Hold on tight, everyone. We do have some technical difficulties. Glenn, help me with the reception!" the soldier said, as he fidgeted with the wiring with the screen. However, the audio was still on, meaning that the Leader could still eavesdrop on the guests, even if he couldn't say anything. "Oh this is preposterous.." the Leader muttered, as he was overhearing a conversation from Ross and Ari.

"You look scared..."

"Oh, please. I'm not scared of him... Well, maybe a little. Hey, you can't blame me. Look at this place. There's more soldiers in this room than are in all of Macronesia. If he wanted me gone, I would just be gone in an instant! Like that!"

"He doesn't scare me. I could probably take him in a fight. Bam, bam, bam, down."

"It's about the power you have in total, not just physical power. I'd probably lose in a one-on-one fight with you, but if you throw in the Macronesian army, that's not exactly even odds, now is it?"

"I have an army as well, you know."

When the screen came back on, the Leader was already giving a mixture of a death glare and a slasher smile at Ross. "I see that you hadn't changed, Ross!" the Leader remarked, as there was a heavy tone of passive-aggression in his voice, before it reverted back to his usual self. "As I was trying to say.." he put himself at ease, as his face twitched a bit for a split second. "I wish that you all behave, so you don't paint targets on your backs. Please do so. We already have enough incidents, so we can't have them go international, can we? Now.." the Leader said, as he put his hands together and leaning back in his chair. "Do enjoy your stay. You're all in this together." the Leader said with a smile, as the broadcast ended.

"Ahem.. You may proceed out of the hotel after you have finished your breakfast, as you wish." a soldier said, as the atmosphere became less tense. But the Leader was right, however. This place already felt dangerous, so they can't draw too much negative attention.

---

[Black Raven Movement]

CHAPTER 1: MATTHEW

The descent towards insanity has always been one of humanity's greatest vices, something we attempt to understand, something that can claim every one of us if left untreated. Something so mysterious, so ever pervasive, yet something deadlier that God himself. Insanity to some is a rejection of God, a rejection of reality itself, a normal man becoming a unrecognizable mass of degenerate psychosis, while those who are insane themselves could argue it to be an twist of fate, something that has presumably opened their eyes to the world and it's darkness. Insanity fuels war, insanity fuels the well-oiled machine of the world with new blood nearly every day, insanity is something every man is interested in fighting, and he may as well be another victim of it. Man's constant obsession with perfection in the world, his obsession with power and domination over others, figuratively or not, is in it of itself insanity.

My name is 049, and this is my descent down the spiral.

---

OOC/SIDE NOTE: More of it will come sooner in the day or month, this is just to keep the thread from fully drying out.

[Black Raven Movement]

YOU CAN'T RUN AWAY, AND YOU AND I NEVER WILL.

"The descent towards insanity has always been one of humanity's greatest vices, something we attempt to understand, something that can claim every one of us if left untreated. Something so mysterious, so ever pervasive, yet something deadlier that God himself. Insanity to some is a rejection of God, a rejection of reality itself, a normal man becoming a unrecognizable mass of degenerate psychosis, while those who are insane themselves could argue it to be an twist of fate, something that has presumably opened their eyes to the world and it's darkness. Insanity fuels war, insanity fuels the well-oiled machine of the world with new blood nearly every day, insanity is something every man is interested in fighting, and he may as well be another victim of it. Man's constant obsession with perfection in the world, his obsession with power and domination over others, figuratively or not, is in it of itself insanity.

My name is 049, and this is my descent down the spiral."

Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? I've attempted to write this god-damned book for four ass-demolishing years now. One could call this a manifesto of sorts, my collection of deranged thinking, all on a 294-page hardback. After what has felt like, what, an entire agonizing, stoned, sex-filled æon has passed, I'm still on square fucking one. Revision, and in general the entire writing process when you lack more drive to write than some poor soul in his 3rd year in the Western Front, is the most abhorrent process of "pain=pleasure" I have subjected myself to. No pleasure has come out of this, not an iota, and I feel like a baboon for this.

But, necessity is the mother of invention, in some way. Maybe someone, anyone in the future, will look back on this, out of sheer necessity for better literature, would find all of this. Maybe he will invent some new writing style, resembling the old, based on this. Maybe he won't.

No one knows.

---

Man's desire for intercourse, it seems, grows more and more as we age.

It starts as a benign tumor, slowly growing, yet posing little, if any, threat at all. Once we hit a certain age, the mass that had been accumulating, increasing more and more, reaches critical mass. Long are the days of it being nothing short of benign. Long gone is the era of sexual docility, long gone are the days of being confused, even disgusted, at the concept of having sex with someone. That all comes crashing down faster than a poorly controlled aircraft in the middle of a thunderstorm, it's pilot's and co-pilots alike, for whatever reason, becoming higher than a hippie in the '60s, crashing in the dead center of the Indian Ocean.

Once you hit said age, you want more and more. You want a significant other right at that moment. Some might say "well, ich habe keine lust!". It is true now, yes, but back then, somewhere in your subconscious, at some point in your life, you felt that way. Maybe you don't want to bone your significant other now, maybe you prefer a semi-platonic, no sex attached, relationship, yet at some point, most of us have felt that want, that need for pleasure. I feel that man is naturally hedonistic, yet some express that, or are more vocal about it, than others. It is a core part of how we grow up, without desire, without drive, we are nothing as humans. Without the desire to stop at nothing for what we want, without the want for something in our lives, who are we as man? Maybe I'm as old fashioned as I am old, maybe I have a point. Yet I believe there is a certain iota of truth in that.

Think of anyone off the top of your head who has become significant in some way, either in your life or to the world, and ask yourself, "did they get there without drive?" If you believe so, then depending on the individual, maybe. Even if said individual is born into splendid conditions, who that person is now wouldn't have gotten there without the drive, and the desire to do something, to achieve something, noble or not. We as man need desire. We as man need something to strive for, else we are nothing.

My girlfriend, and now who, I suppose is my wife now, told me this. I would have still agreed with her, but her sultry appearance, how she composes herself, how she dresses, was enough to convince me. It drove me to accept what she was saying far faster. Her seductive, almost gothic appearance, combined with a neck paler than the most sun-deprived, most secluded individual there is, her convincing, almost divine smile, her soothing voice, I could not ignore looking at her, her hair, face, her pink and grey long sleeve shirt, her shorts, her breasts poking out, portruding from her shirt, all of that, well, at least for me, was a turn on, and am attention getter. That convinced me a lot faster. I understood her point more.

Her intelligence is something I admire about her, her appearance, and her personality are all beyond wonderful. I'm glad she's my wife.

---

"Hey Anton, how'd you sleep? She first asked me. It was a cold, yet nice mid-October day, and I felt better than ever. Maybe it was due to the cold season arriving at everyone's doorstep, maybe it was something else, but I felt wonderful. I had great sleep, and my medication was finally taking effect.

"Fucking awesome, what about you?" I asked her.

"You sound more cheerful, that's for sure. Oh, and I'm doing better, now that you're awake and alive."

"Yeah."

"So, do you want to talk about anything?"

"Drop a knowledge bomb on me. Anything about desire, I need it."

"Ironic you desire something about desire."

"Ironic or not, I haven't had you split my head in two in three years. I miss those kinds of conversations."

"Welp, fuck it. I am no philosophy major or anything, but here I go. Our desire for something, our want for so many things, materialistic or not, defines a human. We are all different, yes, but we share that in common. We want something because our egos demand it, we desire even a morsel of pleasure because our egos ultimately take charge of who we are. And without a desire, a drive....."

"We have no ego." I replied.

"That's what I'm getting at, yes. We need a drive, we need something to pleasure us because our ego is comprised of that. The pleasure we receive, be it sadistic or self-serving, ultimately define our sense of being."

"And the more pleasure, the higher the ego."

"Bingo."

"You should have been a philosophy major. Granted, having to put up with pseudo-intellectuals is draining, but hey, it was a wild ride when I studied it."

"What if what we discussed is pseudo-intellectualistic?"

"We won't know until we either look back on that, or someone points it out. That beside, this was a good convo."

"I suppose you have a point, then."

"I suppose so. Hey, I gotta use the restroom, be right back."

"Shit safely."

"I will."

---

My brother was, well, for once, a man of dignity. No longer was he in a poor state. That made him harder to manipulate, that made it harder to get to him. I now no longer have that challenge, that hurdle to jump over, that wall to climb over, he is more susceptible to my thinking. Perhaps, he will now ditch the democratic sham. Perhaps now he will honor his forefathers.

Antonin, oh Antonin.

I have been with him, I have been attempting to convince him, to lead him down the path of true thinking, for nearly 300 years now. I've been sent by Perun to this planet, to cleanse it, for a century more than that. I had first met him in 1762, during his time in the Seven Year's War. I was a Cossack leader at the time, and he was but a meer soldier, a meager pawn in the European chess game. He was a stricken, poor soldier. He had been poor since that bastard came into being in 1327. He knew no royalty, no divine power, all he knew was starvation, envy, and the desire for a new order. I had taken note of this from my divine master, and I found him.

I had attempted to bring him in at the time, yet no luck. 48 times now, and no result. Despite his envy, despite his hatred for those who killed his loved ones, who starved him of what was rightfully his, he didn't break so easily. He believed in the Enlightenment, so it appeared, the ideas of Locke, and his own, Voltaire. Even after 48 æons of attempting to convince him, I never gave up. I had drive, and so did he. Albeit, he lacked it considerably for nearly two centuries, and I presumed it was easier to break him, but to no avail.

Now? I found him defecating. In a toilet, seeming like the happiest chap I've seen in my life.

"Hello again, dear brother." I said to him.

"Dear Christ, even when I'm doing this, I can't escape you." He replied.

"You can't run away from the truth."

"Ah, so your both my shit demon and guardian now?"

"Maybe."

"Welp. What do you want now?"

"I can tell, and rather feel, that your in a better mood."

"Thanks for the pointer, yeah."

"It's all an illusion."

"The hell do you mean?"

"Everything that has led to this, it's all an illusion. You and I cannot run away, you can't get away from me. You are me, and I am you."

"You encompass my darkest wishes, then."

"Always have."

"Your people are an illusion, then. You are me, so by that technicality, the people you reign over are nothing but a hallucination, a mirage."

"Do not insult my people like that. My people are a divine godsend."

"Degeneracy at it's finest."

"What do you mean?"

"Perun does not wish for idolatrous infidels, genocidaires of his own followers, bastard goat-fucking, child endangering shitmongers like you playing pretend as his main man."

"Oh, he does. For I am Perun himself. My word is final, my people must be cleansed of their impurities. I know what is best, my goals will not be impeded by upstarts like you and Grigori."

"Ich will zu dir weh."

"Mein volk, über alles."

---

That bastard.

Not the biggest, most disappointing lowlife I've seen. I've met, or heard of pampered monarchial asswipes that are on par with it. It is, by definition, a shitcase. I do not possess the time to think about it further. He may be a part of me, yes, but he will eventually fade away. All phenomenon do, all weak-minded, psychotic baboons do. It's not a matter of if, it's of when. When his God will finally have enough, no one knows. I suppose only they do. It does not even have a sense of time, it is eroded to little resemblance. What has caused that, only it, or the viewer, knows.

I hate uncertainties. I don't need them.

Machiavelli stated in The Prince, that "Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are." Apis may be who I really am to some, yet I suppose that matter is confusing. Who I am is varying on two people, so his quote doesn't make an ounce of sense. But who I appear to be? Ask others. They might call me a radicalized militant, a psycho, or a nice guy. Truly depends on who you ask, but I would argue that second label isn't true.

I am not psychotic. I am not demented. I never was. One can't argue against what is true. One may argue that, but those who say so only see who that Cossack hellspawn is. Again, he may be some form of who I am, yet that is it. We are, at the molecular level, not even a triglyceride close to similar. I don't need that bullshit.

And also? That wedding stalled. Everyone who organized it either forgot about what to do, realized the joke that it was, had other issues going on, or got carried away on trivial shit. It was splendid organization, yes, but in the end it fizzled out. I did not need that feeling of uncertainty concerning that. It had potential to be a god-damned hellfest, but it was one that could, but didn't.

I need answers about that neko girl. That's something I need now. To the ends of time, that flame of curiosity will forever burn with me. My offspring will carry that torch. I must find answers. To hell with speculation. I'm going to find a way. All I know is that where she comes from is a nation likely somewhere in the 1300's BCE. Yet that isn't enough. Hopefully any kids I have will understand what I mean, and maybe even sympathize with that.

At least, I hope, well, whatever it will be, makes it. Still a lot of time left. God help me.