“Mr. President! You have a...red letter, from Switzerland.” hollers Svetlana, Ivan’s secretary. “God damn it. Tell Bodie that I do NOT want to date him, for the last time.” He wipes his hands across his forehead, soothing his emerging headache. “It’s actually for you to meet up with him in New Bern, for...definitely non-romantic reasons.” Ivan looks up, reminiscing about vacation. Finally. Unlike TV says, it was not an easy job for Ivan. The chancellor election, the GRAIL war, everything! “Fine. I’ll pack my stuff. Cancel any appointments in the next week.” His secretary beams. “Aww, it has a heart sticker to keep it closed!” “Oh, for FU-“
Swiss Alps, the Swiss Empire
Veeeeeerrrrrrrrrwwwwwwwwwooooooooohhhhhhhmmmmmmmm. The official Minskiev One Sukhoi-54 zips across the Swiss Alps. Mountains seem to be reaching up to poke a giant hole in the plane. Fortunately, clouds are trying to help out Ivan, sacrificing themselves. Kovalenko, the water bender. It’s official.
New Bern is coming up ahead. The plane nose tips down ever-so-slightly. Beep boop. Beep boop. “Lord Bodie on speaker. Hello?”
-
“DO A BARREL ROLL!!”
Boop beep. The pilot starts cackling as he twists the steering all the way to the left.
“No, no, no no no, NO!” Ivan yells, to no avail. The plane flips.
“Son of a BI-“
New Bern, the Swiss Empire
Landing wheels popped out. Plane headed straight down runway. Plane curving slightly less down than before. 3. 2. 1. SKRRTT BUH BUH BUH BUH BUH SKRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt.
“Where to, Svet?” Ivan asks, fresh out of a secretly-Vodkvass-infused candied bacon tin.
“The River Aare!” “Aare?” “Aare! Aare you ready?” “No, this’ll be a Bbore.” “Stop it, I don’t Ccare.” “Off we go!”
*psst Ivan you’re supposed to end on a slur that we conveniently censor*“Oh. NI-“
[this is a joke, he says nickel, we swear]
Undisclosed Café, River Aare
Ivan spots Alastair in either a straitjacket, a wheelchair, or one of those medical beds they use in ambulances. You know the ones.
Dammit John, stop with the 4th wall breaks!Sheesh. Sorry. Carry on.
[my name’s not actually John, that was just a placeholder]
WHAT DID I S-“Alastair?! What are you doing here? What happened to you?!”
“T-the dementors. Th-they came after m-me. I-I’m sorry.” He proceeds to fake put a gun to his head.
Lord Bodie is standing, with a peculiarly white, large, and toothy smile. Like seriously, there’s too many teeth. It’s nuts.
“Hello, Ivan. We’ve been expecting you. Come, sit. Some wine, or perhaps champagne?”
“Don’t worry, I brought my own whisky. I will, however, take all the chocolate and cheese you have.”