Writing Prompts [Open]

[Yalkan]

This thread will be for all posts that have to deal with writing prompts from this OOC thread.

All I ask is that you include the prompt you used along with your write up.

Let the writing commence!

 

[Yalkan]

Prompt: Write a short story about someone heading home from work.

Yerzhan Samatev punched his labor card in the giant metal box on the wall. It was closing time. He was the last man to leave the chemical and steel plant. The plant floor was eerily quiet. Only the quiet hum of industrial equipment idling could be heard. “Wasn’t always like this,” Yerzhan thought to himself. There used to be round the clock shifts and the howl of the blast and arc furnaces all throughout the night. Not anymore. Not here in Jimla. That was long before he was a senior foreman and just an entry plant worker. He reached over to the light panel to shut off all the flood lights hanging high above. With a few clicks the plant was encased in darkness. He sighed as he opened a door to the outside. The vibrant night sky greeted him as it just barely illuminated the barren grassland outside of the compound. It stretched on towards the horizon. Only a small city with its lights could be seen. Yerzhan lit a cigarette in his mouth as he made his way to the parking lot. Only his and one other car remained. Who else would still be here at this hour? He slowly approached the car as he took a drag from his cigarette. It was a green sedan with the windows cracked. Inside was a man curled up in the rear seat with a plethora of blankets. As he peered inside Yerzhan could make out a name tag in a cup holder. Aidyn Dastan. Yerzhan chuckled as he took another drag. “Wife must be busting his balls again,” Yerzhan mused.


After finishing and stomping out his cigarette Yerzhan got into his own car. He took a moment to debate going into Jimla proper to get something to eat. After a moment he decided against it and twisted the key in the ignition. The car spurted and coughed but eventually it roared to life. Yerzhan thought about filling out a vehicle’s ownership form. Hopefully get a new car. Not have to worry about breaking down. He thought about it just like he did every time he had stepped into his car for the past ten years. His old shitbox had been serving him well for over thirty years. It would be disrespectful to replace it without needing to. At least he thought so. He put the old gal into gear and turned onto the long road that led towards town. He wouldn’t be going all the way however. He would eventually have to turn off towards the small suburbs that were outside the city as well.


He fumbled with his cigarettes. It was hard to juggle driving and working a lighter that barely wanted to function. He finally lit it and took a large drag. He relaxed and sank into his driver seat while flipping on the radio. It was on the oldies. His favorite. The song that was playing was “Gilded Dreams” by Mutimir Prchal. Good old Mut Mut. Yerzhan remembered listening to him with his father when he was young. He tapped his hand on the steering wheel to the beat of the music as he drove. His moment of bliss and solitary would be short. But for that short time, on that lone road, with that song, and only the stars to keep him company, Yerzhan was happy.

 

[North Timistania]

It was getting dark outdoors, a cool evening breeze accompanied the slow death of the sunlight, Tambo leaned on his car for a time enjoying the pink skies. It had been a long day's work; the ministry was scrambling to get the capital back up and running and that meant endless paperwork. Tambo reached inside his suit pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes, Uncle Volkov’s to be exact. He grinned as he saw the elderly Fussian man on the cover, he pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips.

He loved the small hours of twilight, there was a gentle, serene quality to them that no other time of day could match. He lit the cigarette with a flick from his lighter and took a long drag, enjoying the pungent but spicy flavour as the smoke-filled his mouth. The drive would be a long one, his home in red palms was still heavily secured by cordons and checkpoints, he hoped his wife would be in a good mood.
He stamped out his cigarette with his shoe and opened the car, the government issue sedan was nicer than the usual industrial workhorses the public utilized, a perk of working for the empress. He turned the key and the car purred as the engine awoke, the headlights glittered as they illuminated the sandy coloured walls of the ministry.

The guard opened the gate as Tambo flashed his ID, soon he was out on the open road and heading down the coastal highway towards the new city. The radio began to play, an old Ubgandibeats tune by Sambe Dijune, it was a memorable one “good time man”. Tambo had spent many a drunken night singing along the Dijune in his youth, the student union had even bequeathed him with the nickname “good time Tambo”

His days of partying and drunken karaoke were long gone, the responsibilities of adult life and marriage had long since superseded the reckless joys of youth but whenever Dijune started singing some part of Tambo’s old self surfaced briefly. For the duration of the car ride, home vice-minister of housing Neshad Na Tambo took a backseat to the wild singing of Mr “Good time” Tambo.

 

[Goyanes]

The man logged off his computer, leaving the familiar Polykor desktop logoff sound, well known in the Gotic world, was the only sound in the office this time at night. For the first time he was the last one out of the office, an honor only few are unfortunate enough to have bestowed on them. On his way out of the office he swiped his employee badge, calling it a night. Thoughts of his wife’s superb meatballs filled his mind, but she was across town in their suburban house, while he was in the thick of Gojannesstad’s concrete jungle. His mouth watered but the thought of the subway ride ahead put that to an end.


The ride down the elevator was ricketier than usual, but he was sure that the man from the maintenance company would have it fixed by Monday. As he walked out the revolving doors from the lobby out onto the street, the night scene of Gojannesstad hit him like a brick. The city was alive; it was a Friday night. A gaggle of high school-aged students walked on by, girlfriends wearing their boyfriends’ coats on the briskly cold Gojannesstad night, they were sure off to a bar or club. It made him reminisce on his high school years, but he grew up in rural Kusenhelm, where even on Fridays everyone was home after the football game.

The gleaming neon sign advertising the U-Baner glowed in the distance. The canyon of towers caused the wind to tunnel through, making it a fairly unpleasant experience, but drawing him closer to the station’s warm embrace.

People spewed out like a vomiting dog. At this time of day more people want to be out in the business district, partying and having a grand old time. He managed to find a turnstile that didn’t have a line of people coming out and tapped his metrocard, letting him in. As he descended down the stairs to the platforms the smell of brake dust and electrical fires filled his nostrils, the stereotypical smells of an underground subway.

The train rolled on in, the platform guard announcing on the PA system to stand back from the edge, you could see everyone taking small baby steps backwards. As it came to a halt, the ballet of the crowds parting from the doors to allow people off ensued. It was a true marvel of Goyanean society, the trains. He didn’t think much of it though, as it was an everyday occurence to him. The train was packed. “Thank God I only have to transfer once,” he thought to himself as he made his way in, grabbing the pole that would prevent him from flying back as the train accelerated.

The lights whooshed by in the tunnel, his tired eyes seeing them as streaks of light, the white, the red, the yellow, the green, sometimes it just meshed into one. By now he was already on the second train, which was much less crowded, but he was trying to fight off the dozes while sitting on the hard plastic bench. It was a blue plastic bench but for some it can seem like the most comfortable bed in the world, like the office salaryman not too far from him, who was sprawled out on the bench, his briefcase his only pillow.

The automated voice read out that his station was coming, and he got up and stretched his legs so he could make it down the stairs from the platforms (the one by his house was above ground in contrast to below).

He exited the train, and later the station. He bought a highball-in-a-can from the vending machine in front of the bar next to the station, his Friday night treat. Next was unlocking his bike from the racks out front. He strapped his briefcase to the back tray on the bike, and with the beer in one hand, biked down the side street to his house.

As he pulled up the driveway and locked his bike to the fence separating his house from his neighbors’, he finished off the highball, tossing the can into the recycling bin on the side of the house.

As he stood in front of the door fumbling in his case for his keys, his wife opened the door. The smell of meatballs, gravy, potatoes, and lingonberry jam seeped into his nose. He hugged her right there, catching her off guard, as she was expecting one of his usual kisses.

“I love you Madelein.”

“I love you too Johan.”

The door clicked shut, and the porch lamp was extinguished.

 

[The USUSNW and Puppet]

Prompt: Same as above
As she turned off the computer, she stared at herself in the blackened reflection. After quite some time, she gets up and speaks with her boss about her leaving for home. Her boss acknowledges this, and sends her on her way.

She goes out to wait for a bus, and sees an old lady. She asks the old lady how she was doing, and if the old lady needed anything. The old lady simply smiles, and points to her ear, indicating she is deaf. The worker smiles back, then looks back at the road. After some time, the bus arrives, and she looks out the window. She thinks of how she wishes she could finish her college education, but how the working job she has now needed her more. She falls asleep waiting to go home. At long last, she wakes up at 2 blocks before her home.

She gets off, and walks to her apartment. She goes onto her computer after doing her daily chores and having dinner, and searches more and more about the local wildlife. After she finishes work in the offices with a retirement plan, she plans to become a biologist. But for now, she must continue the endless cycle of work.

 

[Prydania]

Prompt: Write a story in which the characters are warned not to go into the woods.

4 May 1317
8:38 pm
On a Tuesday
Hamrar, Prydania

Prince Harald Loðbrók made his way into town just as the sun began its descent. Enough light left that the lamps and candles didn't need to be lit quite yet, though a few were started to already. He looked around, taking in the sight of the town, at the edge of the forests that ran up against the Feared Rise, the mountainous border to the Thanedom of Krummedike. He had heard something evil had descended on the town. The messenger in Býkonsviði before Harald's brother, King Robert, was terrified. And so he had volunteered. To merely investigate and report back, if the Crown's attention was truly needed.
It fell to him to live up to his charge now that he was here. The town seemed normal enough...it still bustled as one would expect a town of this size to do at this time. Yet there was a few things that concerned him. Many of the wooden shutters were locked shut already, when often times they'd be open for families to enjoy the cool night breeze. And many people, who would often be curious or excited to see a man wearing the King's colours merely looked at him from the shadows. Still, he didn't let it dissuade him. The inn should still be open. He hitched his steed, entering as matter of factly as one could while wearing the colours of the King, and found an empty table to sit down at. It felt good after the long ride from Erkiengill, and he breathed deep as he relaxed, waiting for someone to approach him.

It was a while before anyone did, which was fine by Harald, even with the occasional suspicious glances. It was woman, about his age, however who approached him. Her light brown hair glowing a faded, burn gold in the candle-lit light of the inn.

"You're from the King's court?" she asked.

He smiled softly and nodded.
"Aye" he said as he stood.
"Prince Harald, Thane of Hadden" he added. "A pleasure to come upon your fine town."

"Prince Harald!?" she replied, a her voice tinged with shock before dropping to a bow. Everyone else followed suit upon hearing her shocked exclamation.

Harald nodded, mostly to himself, before speaking clearly.
"Please, rise everyone. I've been sent by my brother, the King, to investigate the claim that this town has been beset by evil of some form. I would like to request room and board, if you can spare it, so I may fulfill my duties and bring my findings to my brother's court."

A hardly looking man with reddish blonde hair approached slowly, behind the woman.
"Your Highness" he said his voice shaking.
"We did not expect someone such as yourself?"

"Such as myself?" Harald asked, an eyebrow raised.

"The last of the vikings" the woman replied, before lowering her gaze again, realizing she'd spoken out of turn.
"I'm sorry..." she said softly. "But that is what they call you..."

"You...brought your warband?" the man asked.

"No" Harald said, shaking his head.
"I was only tasks with assessing the situation. I don't even know if a war band will be necessary..."

"You'll need more than a bloody warband boy" an older voice bellowed from the back of the inn.

"Father, please, show our guest some respect!" the younger man replied. Harald, however, focused in on him.

"Tell me then, what would I need?"

"The power of the gods and ash, or the angels in heaven...depenin' on what you believe" the old man replied.
"My son and his wife...they're not ready to admit what's happenin' here, but I know."

"Father, those are just stories..."

"Then explain to me how a-third'o the town's children go missin' in just a few months!" the old man shot back.
"Your Highness, you can come here if you like. Listen to what I have to say, if you want to do right by the task your brother gives ya."

Harald looked back at the couple, and across to the remaining souls in the inn. No one said anything. So he went, dragging a seat up to the old man's table and sitting.
"So what are your stories you're so convinced are real?"

"They call you the last of the vikings I hear."

"It's just a name, and I don't see how that's...."

"If you're truly committed to the old ways, m'lord, then you know the stories of Arrandal."
Harald leaned back in his chair and nodded.

"I know Hróarr Loðbrók, once having settled Stormurholmr, sent two warbands down the coast to plunder. They came upon Arrandal, and only half of one band returned."

"There's more than that...only half o'one returned, yes, but among that number...some were changed. No longer the men they were, but demons. Who feasted on the blood of the living. Our ancestors in Andrenne knew of these beings...but we found them here across the ocean too. And we brought it here."

"Vampíru."

"Aye."

"Do you honestly believe that's what's happening here? Children run off into the woods all the time. Sadly some don't come back. Wolves and bears are often to blame, not creatures of the night."

"Children are smart" he replied.
"They know things. When one o'them vanishes in the woods they know to stay away. They lack the pride that drives me to their doom. And the children of this town, they stayed away from the woods when the first few went missin'. These days no child dares go beyond the entrance to their homes, yet they still vanish. No wolf or bear I know of does that, m'lord."

Harald nodded along, not sure what else to say. Any number of other possibilities entered his head, but he had trouble responding to the man. He didn't seem to mind.
"And I'll tell ya m'lord, we're afeared. My son'n his wife, they are. The rest of the town is. Some know what I know, others do but won't say. But I tell you, nothing but a vampíru whisks the living away so quietly."

"Has anyone reached out to Jarl Erik of Abildgaard, in the mountains? I know his lands lie within the Thanedom of Krummedike, but I have a letter of urgency from the King. Surely this will spur him to raise his banners and scour the forests. And find whoever or whatever lurks in the woods."

"Jarl Abildgaard's lands lie beyond the forests. We don't dare go there" the old man's son replied.
"Not now."

"This is your inn then?" Harald asked the old man.

"Aye, but my son, he runs it mostly now."

"Then" Harald began, turning back to the younger man, "I would like a room. Tomorrow I plan on riding to the Jarl through the woods."

"You can't go there" the young man replied.
"You'll die."

"If what you're saying is true, and someone or something in those woods is preying on this town's children to the point where a third are gone, then you do not have time for me to ride back to to Býkonsviði, raise a host, and return. The Jarl and his men at arms are our best chance at alleviating whatever has befallen you all."

"You won't die, m'lord" the old man said.
"No you won't die. Not if you head m'warning. And trust that what I say is the truth. If ya do that, and respect the evil that is there, you might make it out alive."

Harald nodded.
"Innkeeper, your father and I will have some mead. He's going to tell me everything he knows of the vampíru. I ride tomorrow."

 

[ACR of Deerfenland]

Prompt: Write a story revolving around the morning routine of the head of state

19-5-2020
Minsk, Oclusia; 06:55

The Head of Congress, Sean Dwyer, rose to his feet before planting his feet on the ground. Rising out of the mattress that he had been lying on, he just remembered the night before when he got into a fight with his wife. He had a slight headache from his hangover. Three bottles of vodka lie near his mattress in the guest room. He paced back-and-forth in his chamber before taking a seat at his desk. From there, he saw a note addressed to him from his wife. He opened the letter before he sat down. He placed on his reading-glasses and then began to read a note from his wife as he started to take gulps from his water bottle.

Sean,
I sit here tonight trying to ask myself what happened to our marriage. You used to be so kind. So caring. So loving. You used to always make time for me throughout your busy schedule. I thought you were the one for me. Last night, I saw that vision die. You were so stressed about your own job, you didn't think about me or how your stress would affect me. You just drank the night away right after our big argument. I understand that you are the Head of the National Congress, but you don't treat me like you used to. I used to be special in your eyes, but now, I can't trust that I am the only woman in your life... Daily, you are surrounded by important people, and I have seen some beautiful delegates that put me to shame. So, I don't know what our marriage will look like in the future, but I am willing to keep trying to make us work. However, I need you to stop drowning whole bottles. It's not healthy.

Much Love,
Rose

Sean hid the note before making his way to the closet to grab his suit. He grabbed the hangar and placed it in the guest bathroom. He then closed the door behind him and locked it. From there, he brushed his teeth quietly. He scrubbed each tooth delicately, but relatively quickly before washing his face with some of the warm water in his faucet. He shut everything off and made his way towards the door, where he quickly placed on his suit.

He made his way towards the kitchen to grab himself a granola bar before he bumped into his wife. He stared into her eyes before she looks daggers back at him. He rubbed his neck lightly. "I'm so sorr-" he began. Rose's hand cupped his mouth and she hugged him tightly. He wrapped his hands around her waist and they held each other for a solid minute. "Please... Promise me that you'll come home to me tonight..." she said. Leo nodded before making his way out the door.

 

[Nordvand]

Prompt: Write a story revolving around the morning routine of the head of state

6:00 AM
Nordvandian Royal Estate
Victoria, Regen Island, Nordvand

Ring, ring, ring!

A figure shifted under the blankets.

Ring, ring, ring!

An arm emerged, loosely wrapped by the sleeve of a sky-blue pajama shirt, and picked up the telephone handset off a mahogany bedside table.

"James?" asked the figure, half-awake.

James' response was in a deep baritone filtered through Received Pronounciation. "Good morning, Your Majesty. Coffee and biscuits are ready for you in the Dressing Room, when you're ready."

"Thank you, James." Click.

His Majesty, King Matthew I, placed the handset back on the telephone base. The telephone was an antique Bell Systems black rotary phone, complete with a rotary phone dial. More than six years' prior, the King - then, having recently won his election, was known as His Highness, the Monarch-Elect - was presented with plans to perform a vast technological upgrade of the castle and while most of the recommended upgrades to the castle had been made, the King had decided to retain a few traces of the castle's one hundred year-old history, which included the rotary phone. The Chief Security Engineer of the project strongly recommended that His Highness use a more secure system for communicating with the Royal House Staff, to which the Monarch-Elect responded that he didn't care if a foreign adversary knew what he ate for lunch, or how he liked his coffee. The rotary phone stayed.

It was only an inevitability that a monarch would prefer the objects and traditions of years past; after all, he was yet another inheritor of a system of governance thousands of years old. The trick was knowing which things of the past were beneficial or, at worst, harmless and which things of the past were harmful in the present and a stumbling block into the future. A rotary telephone was, at worst, harmless.

The king lightly rested in his bed for five minutes before committing to wakefulness. The King kissed his wife, Becky - known to most of the rest of the world as Queen Consort, Rebecca I - lightly on the cheek as she slept and, rising out of bed, the King put on his glasses and shifted his feet into the slippers resting near his bedside. His feet made no sound as he walked to the door located fifteen feet to his left and opened it.

The Dressing Room was one of the King's favorite rooms in the entire estate. It was his personal abode, a place that hardly anyone outside the King himself and the butler visited. It was here that he spent an hour each morning, reading through three of Nordvand's major newspapers - The Parlamer Times, The Greenwood Post, and The Eastbay Tribune - on his tablet computer while dipping almond-butter biscuits into his coffee before eating them. The tablet computer was one of the pieces of technology he readily and happily embraced; it was specially programmed for his position, and contained not only the daily editions of his newspapers, but also contained his daily schedule that was drafted by his private secretary the week prior, his list of "yellow items" - events that had occurred overnight that, while not important enough to wake him for (which were known as "red items"), were important enough for him to review and address once he could - and other necessities, such as his private and "business" email, and more. Given that it was a Sunday, his designated "light" day, his official schedule didn't start until 10:00 AM, when he and the Queen Consort were to be given an official tour of the newly-renovated Paediatric Wing of the University Hospital of Victoria.

At 7:00 AM, he took a shower in the bathroom connected to his Dressing Room. As much as he wished to dispense with the razor, he decided to shave; the last thing he wanted was to look shabby for the opening of a state-of-the-art facility for saving childrens' lives. He dressed down in a sweater and khakis - there was plenty of time after breakfast to change into a suit and tie - exited the Dressing Room, and traveled two doors down the western corridor into the Private Sitting Room.

The Private Sitting Room was furnished with a large dining table with eight chairs in the center of the room, two armchairs with marble end-tables facing the southern window, and a generous art collection. The Queen Consort was sitting at the dining table, eating a plate of scrambled eggs, pancakes, and sausages that was in front of her. She looked up at the King when he entered the room and smiled.

"It's 7:35, I was about to text you," she remarked, as he settled into the chair next to her. "I was wondering if you had fallen asleep again in your chair."
"Not since I asked James to switch me to a lighter roast of coffee. That can raise the dead."
"Do lighter roasts have more caffeine?"
"I was just as surprised as you are, but thankfully, it seems to do the trick."

The King, at 5'11 and 165 pounds, is in fit condition at his age due to a workout and nutrition regimen he follows six days per week; Sundays, however, were his off-day. His breakfast this morning, therefore, consisted of two boiled eggs, two sausage links, and a large, frosted cinnamon roll with a cup of decaf coffee, all of which was prepared by the House Chef in the first floor kitchen.

The two sat, and ate, and sometimes talked but were also grateful for the moments of silence, including those between each other. Breakfast was sacred time for the royal couple; Nordvand's business rarely touched breakfast, and most conversation revolved around the gardens of their estate, the lives of their three children - the Princes Ragnar and Carter, and Princess Freyja - and their children's families, and the books they were currently reading.

The royal couple ended their breakfast, and then their conversation, by 8:15 AM. They both walked together back down the corridor and retreated yet again into their private dressing rooms to prepare for their tour of the University Hospital Paediatric Wing. The King changed into a pair of black slacks, a white dress shirt, a green tie, and affixed his Nordvand flag pin to his lapel. His hairdresser came in shortly after, and by 9:15 AM, the King joined the Queen Consort at the top of the stairs, walked down to the main floor while greeting servant staff along the way, through the vestibule, and out to the limousine waiting for them, to start a new day in Nordvand.

 

[Prydania]

Prompt: Write a story that starts with two characters saying goodbye.

see here...

For the King, to Valhalla

OOC Note: This is a series of posts comprising a single story arc. This is the sixth of seven posts. The start of the story arc is here. Music: Lacuna Coil - End of Time 24 August 2012 11:10 am Santonian consulate, Darrow “No, not my son!” Hrafnborg wailed as she read the poster that Judith...

forum.thenorthpacific.org

 

[Tornado53]

Prompt: Write a story that starts with two characters saying goodbye.

Everley Island, Zayaki

The hug was suffocating; unbelievably tight and seemingly endless. Yet Peyton embraced her mother's grasp for as long as possible, before breaking away to take a deep and necessary breath of air. She exchanged a more awkward and quick with her father, before stepping back to take a final look at her parents. Her mother had a beaming smile on her face that contradicted the tears that poured from her eyes. Her father had a much smaller smile, but Peyton could tell he was proud by the brightness of his eyes. It was going to be hard for her parents to live without her for the first time in nineteen years; the thought of their sorrow almost made Peyton want to stay. But what lay ahead was far too valuable to miss.

Peyton turned from her parents, and walked toward the black car that awaited her at the end of the driveway. As she approached, the driver stepped out and opened the door to the backseat, allowing Peyton to enter. She felt like royalty. As she settled in and buckled her seatbelt, she noticed a woman staring at her from the passenger seat. The woman looked far happier than Peyton had thought possible and seemed to be waiting for Peyton to do something.

"Hello."Peyton greeted softly. The woman seemed shocked out of her staring by Peyton's voice and quickly turned away.

"I'm terribly sorry Miss Bielowe, I don't know what came over me just then." The woman seemed flustered, as she had planned exactly what to say and then forgotten all of it. "Congratulations on being chosen for the internship. There were many other highly qualified applicants, but Mr. Everley felt that you stood out."

Peyton was awestruck. Minister Everley himself had chosen her? Did that mean he knew who she was? That he liked her? Peyton had been in love with Trenton Everley for almost half of her life. Ever since he had become the minister of Everley Island just 6 months earlier, she had been attending every event that he was at. Two months ago she had heard he was looking for an intern and had immediately begun working on an application. Sixteen hours of writing later, she had submitted her worthy application. Now she was going to River, the capital of Everley, for her very first day as Minister Everley's personal intern.

"Where are my manners, my name is Diana Herdan. I am one of Mr. Everley's advisors. I will be showing you around Everley manor when we arrive, and introducing you to the minister. Let me know if you have any questions."

Peyton could only muster a "Thank you" in response. Daydreams of what her first meeting with Trenton would be like overtook her mind, making the four-hour journey feel like mere minutes.

The car stopped in front of a huge modern mansion. She stepped out and marveled at the beautiful gardens that lay to the left of the house. She noticed her favorite flower, tulips, among the many others that colored the landscape. She wanted to walk through the gardens and discover what else was hidden there. Maybe she would find flowers for a perfect bouquet to send back to her family.

Diana, however, seemed to have other ideas, motioning for Peyton to follow her into the house. Peyton obliged, and walked towards the large, intricately carved oak doors, and into the entrance hall. She was sure that the hall was bigger than her entire house. A large staircase lay to the right and a huge chandelier hung from the sky-high ceiling. There were at least a dozen doors leading deeper into the mansion; Peyton wanted to know what was behind each one.

Suddenly, a door directly in front of her opened, revealing a young man of about twenty years. He had inquisitive blue eyes and pale, freckled skin. His red hair was neatly brushed to one side of his head. He smiled, revealing perfectly white, almost blinding teeth. He wore a sophisticated suit that was tight enough to reveal his muscular arms. Peyton could not believe she was seeing Trenton Everley this close. She couldn't move, unable to do anything but stare, and most likely drool. The Minister looked at her and winked. Peyton was overwhelmed, unable to control her body. Her vision blurred and she fell backward, unconscious before she hit the ground.

 

[Goyanes]

Prompt: Write a story that starts with two characters saying goodbye.

Jægerstrom, Seggsnet, Goyanes
February 17, 1988

“Bye Rudy,” Annabel said from the platform. Rudy grinned back at her, saying I love you back. Rudy wore the standard-issue green Imperial Army uniform. A green pack, in a slightly different shade of green, hung on his back, making him about a third of a meter taller. A tear rolled down her cheek, her long blond hair waving by her neck as a train pulled in on the next track. She wore a yellow trench coat, a dress hiding underneath. She giggled as Rudy wiped a tear from his eye.

They had kissed before he got on the train, and they had held hands the whole time they walked through the station. It didn’t seem like enough to Annabel, but it would have to do. She watched him just stare back at her from the vestibule. She thought he looked so handsome in his uniform. They had met four years earlier at a school dance, and they were since inseparable. Rudy proposed on New Year’s, to which Annabel gleefully accepted. They were to get married at the small church in Annabel’s hometown of Essefjord in June.

An officer with a clipboard tapped him on the shoulder, taking his name for the roll sheet. As Rudy gave his name and tag number, the buzzer sounded and the door slid shut. It was a bit quieter now, but there was still commotion on the train. The drinking had begun in the compartments, rowdy men off to war would always manage to sneak beer onto the train.

As the doors locked shut and the train began to roll away, Annabel’s tears began to grow more severe. Another wife or girlfriend, she didn’t even know, hugged her in a sweet embrace. When she let her go she looked her in the eye and said, “he’s only nineteen.”

---

Rudy woke up. The train had stopped. Light from a lamppost streamed into the sleeper compartment. Six men piled up high on bunk beds, beer cans strewn about the floor, his ticket attached by a safety pin to his collar.

His stomach hurt, and by the feeling of it he estimated he must have drunk twelve Green Mountains. He peered at his wristwatch, illuminated dimly by the outside light, it was 2:30 in the morning. He hopped out of his bottom bunk and kicking some cans out of the way, made his way to the bathroom to take a dump.

Rudy peered at the plaque above the toilet. No use of the toilet when the train is stopped. “Fuck you,” he whispered at the plaque and sat on the throne. He heard some commotion outside through the ventilation openings. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but it was still in Gojan.

When he was done the train hadn’t left yet, but the door was open. It was cold as hell outside, his breath turning to steam as he just stood there, leaning out of the train. “Admusson, Kusenhelm,” yelled the platform guard, only about two people got off, clearly officers. They got into jeeps waiting on the platform for them and drove off.

The buzzer sounded and he leaned back in before the door shut and locked. It was dark inside the train, the only light coming from the exit sign and the light peering in through the windows. The shadows moved as the train picked up speed, dancing on the floor wildly, fading in and fading out.

Rudy looked through the accordion-like joint between the cars, the next coach was a chair car, full of sleeping men. Some were leaned over, some slouched completely. Heads leaned over with mouths open, some still awake smoking cigarettes silently. The conductor came through, in his black, pressed suit. “Back to your compartment, soldier. You’ll need all the rest you can get.”

Walking back he started to think about Annabel. When Rudy got back to the compartment and slid back under the warm sheets, he grabbed a notepad from his pack at the foot of his bed and began to write a letter to her, he’d put it in the box at the station in morning. He wrote under the orange lights as the train rode through Hirendag, the capital of Kusenhelm.

He signed the bottom and folded it up, taking a stamp and sealing the envelope shut. He clutched it in his hands and went back to sleep. It wasn’t until now that Rudy realized how loud the snoring was in the compartment. “Only when I try to sleep, goddamnit.”

---

Mukakstad, Dåren, Goyanes
February 18, 1988

The morning was particularly cold. The train came to an abrupt halt in the terminal, and it wasn’t long before several officers came through the carriage banging on every one of the compartment doors. “Get up and get your bags! Everyone off the train! Rudy managed to fall asleep again, but he couldn’t avoid the sudden wake-up call. The five other soldiers in the compartment groaned and got up.

Rudy managed to quickly brush his teeth using the water from his canteen and a travel-size toothpaste he packed in his jacket pocket. Running off the train he filed in line with the others from his coach. An officer walked by, checking each one of them off, before their Sergeant came to the front of the line to lead them out of the station.

The bridge across the River Mukak was only a couple blocks in front of the station. Across it, lay Gottia. Smoke was billowing in the distance, and rows of tanks and mobile guns crawled up and over the bridge. A V-4 flew low overhead eastbound, the jet wake setting off car alarms.

---

Metropolitan Park, Jægerstrom, Seggsnet
February 17, 2018

Annabel walked through the park alone. It was a cold, but sunny day. She held a wrapped bunch of tulips in one hand, a piece of paper in the other. The site of Rudy’s grave was marked with a simple white cross, his name engraved on the front. She laid the tulips in a small vase that the park rangers keep at all the graves for flowers.

Unfolding the paper revealed the letter Rudy wrote to her that day on the train. The blue ink was fading, and the date was smudged from one of her tears. She always read it. Every February 17th. That was Rudy’s day.

“I’ll be with you one day, Rudy.” She began to cry. “One day.”

 

[Democratu/Regunalia]

Prompt: Write a story revolving around the morning routine of the head of state


Today for King Leonidas began the same as most days did. First a shower in his private bathroom, as with most days, King Leonidas planned on being around people for most of the day, it would be unheard of for the King of Regunalia to be anything less than clean and well-groomed. Speaking of grooming of various kinds usually followed immediately after, hair combing, applying deodorant and cologne, things most people do on a daily basis. After being clean and groomed, the next concern was dress. King Leonidas had speeches planned, so being seen in anything other than his formal attire was out of the question. Once fully dressed, a palace servant would assist him in draping his royal cape over the tassled pauldron and secure it in place, the royal staff is retrieved right about now, as is the royal crown being shined, he is rarely seen without it. With all the necessities taken care of, it was time for breakfast. This is the first point where the King's Hand joins the king. Today, steak and eggs was on the menu, along with professional conversation with Commerce Minisster Abbey Statham about matters relating to her ministry. With breakfast complete, King Leonidas retires back to his quarters for personal hygiene. Finally comes the first speech of the day, on the importance of responsible law enforcement, and maintaining a balance between the rule of law and liberties of the individual liberties while doing so in such a way as to not discriminate against any one race in particular, Regunalia needs to be one body, with one unified voce.

 

[Predice]

Prompt: Write a story revolving around the morning routine of the head of state

Vittorio wakes up on the couch with an empty bottle of wine on his lap, he had felt like he had earned some drinks with all that had happened.
"oh fuck" he utters. Then he burps.

He rises out of the couch and knocks over two more empty bottles of wine.

"Ah sonouvabitch my back" he says.

Then he notices that he had fallen asleep in his uniform.

"Agh. A hangover and a fucked uniform. Nice" he says.

He quietly changes into his pajamas and walks to the bathroom, brushing his teeth, and shaving. He then washes his face, and prepares for the day.
He walks over to the dining room and requests a breakfast of black coffee and a croissant.
He enjoys the croissant and the coffee, which wakes him up a little, before heaing to the balcony for a smoke. Predicean cigars were his favourite. Wanting to be especially bougie, he lights it with a match.

A servant comes next to him and says: "Signore, your uniform is full of winestains."

Vittorio blushes and repsonds: "Pay no mind to that, get my backup uniform."

"But that's drying right now" the servant responds.

"Oh fuck." Vittorio responds, simply.

"Can we make today a family day? I want to be with the kids after dad died." Vittorio continues.

"As you wish Signore." The Servant responds

 

[North Timistania]

Prompt: Write a story revolving around the morning routine of the head of state

Flecks of light creep through the curtains signalling the start of a new day, I rise before my alarm clock has a chance to wail and drag myself in the direction of the shower. A life spent in military camps and government office causes certain habits to become ingrained, rising with the dawn being one of the hardest shake. The hot water hits me like a cleansing wave and pulls me out of my dazed state, a few more minutes of steam and I'm awake. I pad out to the lounge and light a cigarette as I dry in the sunlight streaming in from the window, the warm tickle of menthol giving me the required first nicotine buzz of the day.

Next is breakfast, Coffee to be exact, I don't like to start a morning with a full stomach, I like to work for my meals. My servant Motapa attempts to pour the coffee for me, he ceases this as he notes the raised eyebrow I give him, I can attend to my own caffeine fix than you very much. The Tyrooz black hits me like a mace to the skull, the dark roast sharpening my awareness like a whetstone, by the time I finish I am prepared to wrestle with gods and ministers alike.

My uniform is brought out, a scarlet jacket with leopard skin sash and black trousers awaits, I dress quickly and pull on my boots while the local news plays in the background. Next its an hour in my office, a small army of briefings preparing me for the meetings ahead, it's mostly business as usual, though the Gotic and Icenian sections seem to get more volatile with each passing day. The world might as well be on fire, thankfully that blaze hasn't caught Iteria just yet.

I have ten minutes to myself afterwards, time for another coffee and a cigarette, I have just enough time left to play one of my uncles records, Jazz streams out of the player as soon as the needle hits the vinyl. I trace the notes in the air with an idle finger as I allow myself a few moments of stress-free indulgence. Then with the press of a button, the music stops as abruptly as it started, I breath in and click another button on my desk. The metal shutters to the windows close behind me and bath the room in darkness for a moment, artificial light floods the room as various monitors and displays flash into activity. A white-uniformed servant strides in and bows solemnly

"The Ministers have arrived your Exalt," The man says in a reverent tone

I nod "Send them in," I say turning my chair towards the shuttered window, he bows(they always do, whether I look or not) and leaves to collect the ministers

Moments later my council fill the room, a collection of silken robes and neatly pressed suits, I lean turn my chair and lean forward on the desk

"Compatriots, let us begin," I say with a grin

 

[Goyanes]

Prompt: Write a story revolving around the morning routine of the head of state

The buzzing of the alarm clock woke Anthony up, as it did almost every day. He sat up in his bed, and shut off the alarm clock. Claire rolled over, and groaned. “Why do you get…” she dozed in and out, “…up so early?” Anthony paid no attention to her question, instead kissing her on the forehead and getting out of bed. The alarm clock read 05:30, in its green digits.

Summer in Goyanes could be an oven, but the country’s nordic weather ensured that nights were to be chilly. If the alarm clock didn’t wake him up, the cold tiles of the bathroom floor would. Toothbrush and toothpaste, all the usual jazz. Anthony turned the shower on while he brushed his teeth so it could get warm. He looked in the mirror, scratching his beard as the toothpaste foamed around his lips.

About 15 minutes later Anthony emerged from the steamy bathroom, walking to the closet of the imperial apartment in his bathrobe. He picked out his suit, black pinstripes, with a freshly dry-cleaned white shirt and a light blue tie. Leaving the closet, Claire beckoned him back to the bed, she was awake now and watching something on her phone. She made sure his tie was all good and that his collar was done right, then with a kiss, sent him off to work.

He left the apartment, and made his way down to the kitchen. Breakfast would be with the privy council later. But he was starving, so he walked into the kitchen, where one of his closest friends, Chef Rudolf, greeted him with a smile and a fist-bump. “I’ll have your coffee in a second, it’s almost done. The kitchen was still quiet, though in half hour’s time it would be a bustling scene of controlled chaos.

Rudolf poured the coffee out of the Moka pot into the cup, the sugar waiting inside. After giving it a quick stir he gave the cup to Anthony. “Excellent as usual Rudy.” He started to leave the kitchen. “Breakfast better be good!” He joked aloud with Rudy, booming laughter filling the still empty kitchen.

He got to his office around 6:10, turning the lights on. His secretary wasn’t there yet, but Anthony preferred she get there around 7:00 anyways. Anthony turned on the computer, the Polykor startup sound filling the quiet room. On his desk sat a list of things for today. 8:30: Privy Council, 10:00: Meeting with Norberg, stood out immediately. He began to look through the paperwork on his desk. Laws requiring assent, things to be read through and briefed on, it was more than meets the eye.

Anthony pulled out the ceremonial stamp, and began to affix his seal on the bills waiting on his desk. Three bills became law that day. Two were budget propositions and one was a general amendment. At seven on the dot, his personal secretary, Isabella, walked into the office, shouting good morning at Anthony as she got situated in the room in front of his.

“Good Morning Isabella, have you had breakfast today?”

Anthony always liked to make sure his staff were happy. It was the least he could do.

“Not yet, but I will, don’t worry,” she chuckled back at him.

The morning sun painted his office orange-yellow, and he could barely see his computer screen. It was time to get up and stretch. He stood by the window, watching Gojannesstad slowly wake up, although it was arguable wether or not it really ever went to sleep.

 

[Prydania]

Prompt: Write a story revolving around the morning routine of the head of state.

Tobias stirred awake, barely. He was face down in his pillow and he kept his eyes closed to try and eek out a bit more sleep. He was awake though, and there was no changing that. He opened his blurry eyes and saw the clock. 5:00 am. He turned carefully in bed. Alycia. He smiled. She was still sound asleep. He rolled over to kiss her gently on the head but otherwise made no effort to wake her. She was pregnant- with twins no less- and she needed her sleep.

Tobias though, well he'd been waking up early. It had begun as an accident. He'd just awoken an hour before Alycia usually woke one morning. And he'd used that time to enjoy himself. And since then...his internal sleep schedule had just sort of adjusted. He slowly rolled out of bed and carefully walked to the door, slipping out in the dead of the early morning. It was still dark in Býkonsviði. He made his way to the far end of the next room, where the television was located and picked up the phone to dial the kitchen.

"Hello...yes...the usual, eggs and fruit, orange juice for the Empress. Me? Um...yeah the usual too. An eggjakaka* with bacon, and coffee. Have it ready in an hour. Thank you, Ísidór."

He sat the phone down, happy to have taken care of that. Now he had roughly an hour before he'd be ready to great his pregnant wife with breakfast. And until then...
He switched on the television and fired up his gaming console, sure to keep the volume down. He breathed happily and smiled. He enjoyed video games quite a bit. They'd always been a sort of unknown thing growing up. He rarely had access to them during the war. And now that he could play them whenever he had free time...well...he was very eager to make up for lost time. And the fact that his online gaming profile was anonymous...no one knew who he was. No one treated him differently. People would curse him out for fucking up, call him any number of horrible, offensive things...and it was sort of wonderful. To just be a guy.

He flipped through his library and was about to select CEFA Football when he flipped over to Ogier Tækniriddari* at the last second. The emotion from Prydania's gold medal win at the Odinspyl just a few days ago. It was so raw, so overwhelming and Tobias felt something he didn't think he'd ever feel. He felt football'd out. He just wanted to let the emotion from the event sit on their own. So he decided he'd play some Ogier instead.

"Hmmm" he thought to himself.

Single Player.
Online Challenge.
Player Courses.

He smirked and selected "Player Courses." It was a feature that allowed players to make their own side-scrolling levels. Part of him was sure that only serial killers made these things for how sadistic they'd get but they were always challenging.

And so he died. Again and again. Again again. He was forcing himself to do the ones ranked hardest by the community after completing the easy ones. Maybe he should have gradually worked up the list but....nah. Go for the top.

He began to notice that the sun was peaking through the darkness, and his time before Alycia would wake was running out. One more....

He booted up the level and sent Ogier the Opossum Techno Knight running, and managed a deep run...hell...if he timed this next bit right he might be able to complete the level....he hit the first jump and went for the second when the knock at the door broke his concentration and Ogier was burnt to a crisp.

"Fjandinn" he muttered before shutting the system off and getting the door. It was a Knight of the Storm, with the tray of breakfast.

"Your Majesty" he said with a slight bow of his head.

"Thank you" Tobias replied, taking the trey and leaving the Knight to his duties as he brought breakfast into the bedroom. Alycia was not yet awake, but she would be soon. So he set the tray down by the table off to the side of the bed and walked over, bending down to kiss his wife on the cheek.

Alycia stirred awake, looking up with blurry eyes.

"I smell eggs" she muttered.

"Eggs, and bacon" he chuckled back and reached down, helping his pregnant wife out of bed and over to the table for breakfast.

"Thank you, love" she replied as they both sat down.
"How you always manage to have breakfast ready when I wake up is a mystery" she smiled.

Tobias chuckled.
"I'm an earlier waker" he said with a shrug.

"Well thank you for not waking me up" Alycia replied with a yawn.

"I wouldn't dare" Tobias replied, smiling as he took a bite of his omelette. He wasn't going to wake his pregnant wife up early. Sure, he'd tossed Ogier the Techno Knight to his death countless times, but he wasn't suicidal!

---

*eggjakaka= a thick omelette-like dish that has the general thickness of a pancake
*Ogier Tækniriddari= Ogier the Techno Knight, a video game franchise from Prydanian developer ELDKUR

 

[Pikabo]

Prompt: "Write a story in which the characters are warned not to go into the woods."

Shi and Meng
"Junction"
Ki​

2004年11月5日
16:54
Star Day 5
Sihuan, Zhen

"Meng-didi! Meng-didi!!"

Shi was running as fast as she could. The light of day was fading fast.

The trail leading deeper into the forest was longer than she expected. She threw the map she was holding since it didn't help her catch sight of her little brother when he first disappeared earlier.

To her unexpected relief, she bumped into a figure. There was only one other person in these woods.

"Meng-gege! What are you doing?" Shi slammed her fists on Meng's back. Meng unsurprisingly stood motionless. Her blows didn't amount to any pain, much less any notice at all.

Meng simply let his big sister cry on his shirt. His eyes stuck at the light seeping through the forest ceiling.

For a while, she cried. Then she cried some more. Until the silence of the forest, serenaded by chirping birds and the cool air, engulfed them in some peace they have never found at home.

"Meng-didi...let's go."

"...No."

"What? Eh. Let's go!!" Shi tried to pull Meng with her and grabbed the hem of his shirt

"No!"

"It's getting dark!! If you stay here, you're going to get lost!"

Meng managed to slip off from Shi's hold.

"What if I want to get lost!"

He ran.

"MENG!!!"

Spoiler: OOC Notes

Didi (弟弟, "younger brother")

 

[Arc]

Prompt: Write a story revolving around the morning routine of the head of state

Saturday
18 December, 2021
Early morning hours
Presidential Palace, Siloyev

BZZ! BZZ! BZZ!

4 o’clock in the morning; time to get up.

Sidorov’s tired arm slammed down on the snooze button. The President rolled over in his bed to remove the covers and swung his feet around over the side of the bed before slipping them into his slippers. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms before standing to his feet to go relieve himself in the bathroom and a nice, hot morning shower; a welcome experience, especially given that it was winter.

When he came back he walked over to a blue telephone which sat on a stand beside the door. The phone was reserved as a line between the Presidential Quarters and the palace kitchen, so the President could order breakfast. Sidorov picked up the phone and brought it up to his ear.

“Yes, good morning, I’ll have the usual; porridge, cottage cheese, and a glass of coffee. The First Lady will have her usual as well. Thank you.” He put the phone back down.

He looked over to Melaniya, still fast asleep. Judging by the lack of crying in the next room over the alarm hadn’t woken up Sergey or Vadim. Thank God, he thought to himself. He walked over to the closet across from the bed and picked out a white color shirt, a black suit, socks, and black shoes. Red or blue tie today? He went with blue.

A soft knock came at the door. Sidorov opened it to meet the Kitchen Butler, a slender man with a curved, brown mustache. The man nodded his head and presented a trolley which carried both his breakfast and that for his wife; a breakfast omelet with toast and a glass of orange juice. “Your breakfast, Mr. President.” The trolley was brought in beside the bed and a bedside table brought out so the First Lady wouldn’t have to crawl out of bed if she didn’t wish to do so. The butler went back to the kitchen downstairs and Sidorov strapped on his watch.

He looked over to Melaniya, who was still asleep, and went to gently shake her shoulder. “Sweetheart, breakfast is here. Time to get up.” She turned over, meeting his eyes with her own drowsy pair. “Good morning,” she yawned before sitting up. Sidorov pulled out her bed table and put it over her lap before handing her her tray of food. He reached over to the TV remote and put on the news before sitting back down on the bed and pulling the trolley over to use as a table.

Melaniya looked over to Sidorov as he took a sip of black coffee. “I don’t understand how you can stand that crap,” she chuckled. Sidorov tried not to laugh with a mouth of coffee.

The news was talking about the usual; happenings abroad, local events, and reconstruction efforts in West Vaasa. He was glad that the whole mess in West Vaasa was over, it had caused him nothing but sleepless nights full of stress. The news channel switched from reconstruction efforts to talking about the new national train system project the government had started a few months back; a national infrastructure project to construct a new, modern nation-wide railway network with Goyanean investments.

After finishing breakfast, Melaniya got out of bed and got herself ready for the day. Sidorov kissed her on the lips and went off to his office.

Sidorov’s office was a room of decent size; two couches in the center of the room separated by a small coffee table which itself had, situated on its center, a bowl of red and green apples which had been picked directly out of the Presidential Gardens just outside. Sidorov had always liked the sour green apples the most. His heavy wooden desk sat in front of three windows which looked out towards the Presidential Gardens behind the palace, which were now covered up by the white sands of winter.

It was now 5:30 AM.

His secretary Ms. Permyakova was waiting for him. “Good morning, Mr. President.”

“Good morning, Ms. Permyakova. What’s on the list of things to do today?”

“Well,” she looked at a sheet paper, “you have a press interview at eight, you have some bills in the National Assembly to sign or veto at your discretion, and you have to convene the National Assembly for a debate regarding Prime Minister Tsvetayev’s proposal, as well as various other briefings.”

Sounds like fun… Sidorov remarked in his head. He sat down behind his desk and looked through the paperwork stacked before him. He spent some time looking through them, dealing with the briefings, and looking through news reports, both foreign and domestic.

After an hour or so, he relaxed back into his chair and let out a sigh. He looked out the windows behind him to see the Presidential Gardens covered in snow. He thought it looked beautiful. The room was nice and warmed up, contrary to the outside cold. Thank God for heaters, he thought to himself.

He got up from his seat and walked over to an old phonograph situated on a table on the left side of the office, and opened a drawer beneath it. He pulled out an old record case which read in gold characters, “POLUNIN SYMPHONY NO. 9.” Sidorov had always enjoyed listening to classical music while he worked.

 

[Prydania]

Prompt: Write about what your head of state does in his/her free time

18 September 2032
12:15 pm
On a Saturday
Woods around Skógurheorot, Prydania

Baldr and Hael peaked up over the brush and the log they were hiding behind as their father checked his watch for a brief moment.

"Ok boys" Tobias whispered as he watched the stag in the distance.
"Who wants to go first?"

Baldr and Hael looked at each other, and Tobias prepared himself for the coming barrage of competing claims that might just scare the stag off, but instead it was only Baldr going "ooo me, pabbi! Me!" softly.
Tobias smiled, but was caught off guard by Hael not volunteering.

"Hael, you ok?" Tobias asked, eliciting a protest from Baldr.

"Hey, I said I would go pabbi, I called it!"

"Shhh...you don't want to scare it away. Is everything alright Hael?"

"Yeah pabbi" Hael replied with a nod.
"Baldr can go if he wants though."

"Ok" Tobias said as he squat down between his sons.
"You want to aim..." he instructed as he helped Baldr aim the lever-action rifle, "...slowly. The deer isn't going anywhere if it doesn't know you're here. So slowly, slowly....feel like the rifle's part of you."

"How do I do that pabbi?" Baldr asked.

"You breath deep. Relax. Don't grip the rifle tightly. Just hold it...there you go. Now..." he placed his hand on his son's and guided it back to the lever.
"You want to chamber a round." He loosened his grip on Baldr's hand. "Now load."

Baldr nervously pulled the lever, and Tobias pat his hand just a bit.
"There you go, lad. Now relax. Aim... don't rush the shot....just wait for your momen..." a shot rang out through the forest before Tobias could finish his instruction and the deer ran off into the glen. Baldr quickly loaded another round and fired again...the shot echoing through the forest.

"Calm down, calm down" Tobias chuckled.
"And stop wasting your amo. It was a gift from Uncle Vittorio."

"But I missed!" Baldr protested.
"I coulda gotten him if..."

"No" Tobias replied with a smile on his face.
"A deer runs faster than you can reload and re-aim. You get one shot. If you miss that's it until you can sneak up on another one."

"Can't we get those weapons like the Knights and Whiteguard have?" Baldr protested.
"We could mow down so many deer!"

Tobias laughed and beckoned both of his sons to come sit with him. He opened up his backpack and handed each of them a can of Toki's while he grabbed some jerky for himself.
"That wouldn't be healthy for the forest. And it's cheating anyway."

"How?" Baldr asked.
"We could kill more deer."

Tobias smirked and looked over at Hael. He was the more studious of the two.
"Do you know why?" he asked.

Baldr looked at his brother, who blushed and looked down a bit.
"Because it's not environmentally friendly?"

"Yep, that's it!" Tobias replied as he munched down on the jerky.
"There are only so many deer who live in the forest. If we kill too many there won't be any left to make babies. And the deer will all die out. So we only kill enough to keep their numbers at the right level, and only for a few months every year."

"But you're the King, pabbi" Baldr insisted.
"You could kill as many as you want!"

"I don't want to upset the balance of nature" Tobias replied with the patience of a parent who had to teach his children the obvious.
"And anyway a good King follows the law."

"I still think it would be cool to have those weapons the Knights have."

"Then it wouldn't be hunting" Tobias insisted.
"It would be cheating."

"How?" Baldr asked.

Tobias was going to answer, but he had an idea.
"Guns down, pointed to the ground. That's it" he said, as he walked his boys through the safety process. He grabbed his own rifle and aimed ahead, as if there were still game there.
"Ok both of you. Come up and see what I'm doing." Baldr and Hael got up close on either side of him.

"Ok. Now see..." Tobias relaxed.
"My breathing. It moves the rifle up and down right? So I need to factor in the rate of my breath. I need to get used to the rhythm. And do you feel that breeze? I need to figure out how much it'll affect my shot. So I have to readjust. And then....when I see my shot....when I'm sure I've lined everything up perfectly...I fire." He pulled the trigger and the gun clicked. It wasn't loaded. He sat back and pulled his gun away, setting it down as he took his seat back and began eating some more jerky.
"It would have been easier to gun down everything with a military assault rifle. So which one is worth doing? The easy one or the one that takes more skill?"

"The one that takes more skill?" Hael asked.

"That's right" Tobias replied with a grin.

"Suck-up" Baldr insisted, promoting Hael to stick his tongue out at him.

"Shhh you two are going to scare all the game away" Tobias chuckled softly.
"Come on. Let's go. We'll track the deer. Take your pop cans and give them to me when you're done. No littering."

"Yes sir" the twin boys said as they stood up. Tobias let them both pass him. He'd walk behind them, keeping and eye on them to make sure they were safe and handled their rifles properly.

"You like hockey, Baldr. It's a pretty intensive and hard sport, yeah?" Tobias asked.

"Yeah" his son replied. He was a player on the junior team for Astissa's most elite prep school.

"Well lots of sports are hard. Football takes a lot of endurance. And basketball takes a lot of concentration. Only hunters, though, have been called sportsmen. They have only one shot to hit their target, and have to factor everything in from their own breathing to the wind to even if their own scent will carry to the game being tracked. It's a skilled thing to be a good hunter. That's why we don't take automatic weapons hunting. It hurts the forest, and it's not even very impressive. But if you can master hunting with a good old lever action rifle then..." he chuckled.
"Well you'll be a real sportsman."

"I guess" Baldr replied as he made his way through the forest.

"Who taught you how to hunt, pabbi?" Hael asked. Both Hael and his brother knew their father's parents had died early in his life, though not the full extent of what happened.

"Uncle Axle" Tobias replied somewhat forlornly. Axle had passed away just over a year ago.
"He gave me this gun. And then Uncle Vittorio had it refurbished years ago. And it still works perfectly" he chuckled. "So make sure those guns last."

"Pabbi?" Baldr asked.

"Yeah?"

"Why are we hunting deer? Isn't that our family's symbol?"

Tobias began to chuckle. He'd asked Axle that question back when he was learning to hunt in the middle of the war.
"Yeah...yeah the stag is our symbol" he said as the three made they way through the forest. A forest Tobias knew like the back of his hand. Not that Baldr and Hael knew how well he know the forests around Skógurheorot. It added to their sense of excitement if they didn't know their dad knew exactly where they were going.

"Do you know why the stag is our symbol though?" he asked.

"Jægdar!" Hael exclaimed excitedly.

"Shhh" Baldr insisted, turning around with his finger pressed to his mouth.
"You'll scare the deer."

"Sorry" Hael replied, feeling bad. Tobias smiled though, patting Hael's shoulder.

"That's right. Jægdar, who our ancestors worshipped, was the god of the hunt and and represented by a stag. Our family revered him. So that's why we have a stag as our emblem today. So if our symbol comes from the god of the hunt, then hunting deer is ok" Tobias explained, before he got the idea to relay a line to his sons that Axle had said to him when he taught him how to hunt.
"You're not the first Loðbróks to hunt deer, and you won't be the last. Just remember. You hunt responsibly. Just during the proper season, and never excessively."

"Yes sir" both boys replied dutifully, if a bit bored that their father was repeating himself. Tobias just smirked. They could be annoyed at him. As long as they learned the lesson.

"Boys, stop" he said softly.
"Look. Up ahead."

"Is that the deer I missed?" Baldr asked.

"Maybe. Either way it's here. Come on. Get down."

The three of them lowered themselves to the ground in the forest that dipped a bit.
"Hael, why don't you try?" Tobias asked.

"Wha?" Hael asked nervously as Baldr protested.

"I missed my shot pabbi! I should get to try again!"

"You missed. Let your brother go. We have all day. You can go again later" Tobias said firmly, before turning to Hael.
"Go on. Give it a try" he smiled. He was sure Hael's calmer demeanour would help him find a balance with his gun.
"Just like I showed you back there."

"Ok..." Hael replied. He aimed his gun...his heart was racing with nerves. Could he do this? Did he want to do this?
He clutched the rifle tight and whimpered before he remembered what his father said. Hold the gun loosely. He did, breathing deep as he relaxed his grip. His heart was still racing. He tried to calm down.

"He doesn't see us" Tobias said softly.
"Take your time..."

Hael nodded and tried to relax. He found focusing on the stag in his sites calmed him. Just by breathing deep and focusing on the fixed point...
His finger slipped the safety off and trembled as it pressed against the trigger... both Tobias and Baldr watched the stag in the distance, among the trees.

"Come on..." Baldr muttered.

"Shhh" Tobias replied.
"Take your time Hael..."

Hael could feel the trigger. Just a bit of pressure was all it would take. Just a bit of pressure...the stag was in his sites...just a bit of pressure and he'd kill it...and he couldn't pull. The stag, perhaps deciding to graze elsewhere, leapt away.

"You let it go" Baldr muttered, disappointed.

"Aw well" Tobias shrugged.
"It's ok" he pat his son's shoulder.
"We'll find him again."

"Yeah but I'll take the shot" Baldr insisted. "Since Hael couldn't."

"Yeah I could!" Hael insisted.

"No, you couldn't!" Baldr shot back.

"I could! I just didn't want to!" Hael replied, nervous as he blurted out a feeling he'd had since they arrived in the woods, but had been too nervous to say.
His father loved to hunt, and was over the moon about teaching his sons how. Baldr was excited to learn. Hael...didn't want to be bad. He didn't want to let either his father or brother down. And now he had. He hung his head.

"Sorry" he muttered as he set his gun down and sat on the ground with his knees pulled to his chest.

"Geeze" Baldr rolled his eyes.
"You should have let me take the shot, pabbi."

"Baldr" Tobias replied firmly.
"Shush."
He turned to Hael.
"What's wrong?" he asked softly.
"I'm not mad...don't worry."

Hael looked up to see his father sitting across from him, crossed legged and smiling.
"What's upsetting you?"

"I...that was a stag" Hael said softly.

"Yeah" Tobias nodded. He knew Hael wasn't like his brother. Baldr rarely held back with how he felt. He was very open to the world like that. Hael though, was more quiet. It took patience to let him open up.
"It was a stag. Were you afraid of it? You don't need to be. They're..."

"I wasn't afraid" Hael replied.
"It's a stag, that means it's a pabbi."

Tobias smiled wide. He knew where this was going. Or thought he knew at least, until Hael continued.

"What if I shot it and killed it? Its babies wouldn't have a pabbi. Like you...I didn't want its babies to be sad, like you."

Tobias felt a knot grow in his throat from nothing. Baldr and Hael hadn't been taught about the Prydanian Civil War in full yet. And didn't even know the full context of their paternal grandparents' executions. They just knew their friends had grandparents, and had asked their father where their grandpa and grandma were. Tobias and Alycia had decided to be forthcoming. They'd told the boys that Tobias' parents were killed, a long time ago. And left it at that.
Hael didn't need to know the full story though, to see that his father got sad anytime he thought about his mother and father.

"You get so sad whenever you talk about Grandpa Robert and and Grandma Hanna because someone killed them. I don't want that stag's babies to be sad like that."

Tobias looked down for a moment. Hael saw it and gulped.

"I'm sorry I messed up and ruined our tri..." but he couldn't finish before Tobias hugged him tight. He didn't say anything at first. He just held him. He held him because Hael's empathy made him proud. Because it touched him. He hugged him to reassure him. And he hugged him because he loved his children. He loved his family.

"You didn't ruin anything" Tobias said softly. He finally let go and sat back down with his sons.

"I let it go..." Hael insisted but Tobias shook his head.

"I'm with my boys. How could the trip get ruined?"
He pulled Baldr in to hug him, even as he resisted.

"Pabbi..."

"Yeah" Tobias chuckled.

"It doesn't matter if we don't shoot a single deer. We spent time together. That's what matters."

"I still think I could have hit it" Baldr mumbled as his brother looked at him.

"But the babies..."

Tobias interjected to stop an argument from breaking out.
"It's true I get sad, because I miss my parents. But I remember a lot of good times too."
He took Baldr and Hael's pop can and crunched them up before tossing them in his pack and taking out three fresh cans.
"You guys know the black motorcycle I have?"

Both brothers nodded.

"That was your Grandpa Robert's" Tobias smiled. "And let me tell you about the first time he ever took me out on it."

Both Baldr and Hael smiled as they sat, listening to Tobias as he spoke, telling them a story about their grandfather.

And Tobias smiled as he told it, happy to have his sons with him.

---

If I Had a Heart by Fever Ray, 4:06

 

[Goyanes]

Prompt: Write about what your head of state does in his/her free time

May 15, 1976
12:30 PM
Gojannesstad-St. Olaf Airport

Natan had gotten Anthony to come out of the house on a little excursion. They packed the sedan they use for inconspicuous travel and left through the back driveway of Tageskiele. Wearing hats and sunglasses, the goofy looking father and son, Grand Emperor and Crown Prince, made their way to a park next to the runway, keeping out of sight so as not to draw attention to themselves.

Hansselby Park was only separated from the sprawling airport grounds by a ha-ha wall, allowing a perfect sightline onto the airport for planespotting. They sat on a bench, a basket between them with some sandwiches and waterbottles. Gleaming metal tubes moved around the airport, but Anthony was staring at the grass, uninterested. He was hungry and couldn’t care less about those dumb planes.

“Ant, look, look look,” his father exclaimed.

Anthony raised his head, just in time to watch a Rynoven Radisson Mark 4 spool up her engines and begin to careen down the runway. The gleaming stainless-steel behemoth raised her nose and took to the sky.

Natan looked down at Anthony. His jaw was dropped, hair standing on end. Pure curiosity in his eyes. He turned to his father. “Papa!” he said, a smile stretching from ear to ear. “Are there more coming?”

“Oh yes, there’s planes all day, Ant.”

And they sat there, watching the planes until the sun set.

---

November 1987

Anthony and Natan were sitting at the bench watching again. They’d come back to that same spot many times since, but this would be the last for a while. Anthony would be deploying next week with the Imperial Navy’s Aviation wing to fight Gottia in their war against Gotmark.

“Our family is no strangers to conflict. I fought, your grandfather did as well, now it’s your turn.” Natan turned to look Anthony in the eyes. “Maybe one day we won’t have to, but for now we have to fight for our country.”

The roar as a jet took to the skies overhead ended short Natan’s line, but the value still carried over. “Come on, I have to take you to the station so you can get back to Svartsfjerg.”

---

December 1999

It had only been several weeks since Natan died from complications in surgery. Anthony was struggling. His role model in life was taken from him. Nothing could console him, but it was getting better. Each day there was more and more light at the end of the tunnel.

Staring at the planes, it had already grown dark. He sat on the same bench that they sat on 23 years before, where it all began. He took a small metal pin out of his pocket, his navy pilot’s wings, and looked at them.

He was interrupted by his cellphone, his wife, the empress, on the other end, telling him dinner would be ready in a half hour.

Even though he wanted to spend all night here, he had to go home. He got up and left the wings right there on the bench. Wiping a tear from his eye, he looked at the glinting piece of metal on the seat.

“Thanks papa. Love you.”

 

[Arc]

Prompt: Write about what your head of state does in his/her free time

Monday
20 December, 2021
Afternoon
Presidential Palace, Siloyev

Sidorov opened the door to be greeted by the sight of the gardens behind the Presidential Palace blanketed by winter. Immediately his face, the only part of his body which hadn’t been covered by winter clothing, was hit with a breeze of the Arcanstotskan winter cold. A smile touched his lips as Vadim and Sergey rushed outside to play in the snow. The two boys looked up to the sky and stuck out their tongues, trying to catch snowflakes as they drifted gently towards the ground. He took in a deep breath of the cold air, fully ready to enjoy his day off of work.

Sergey, who was six years of age, looked over to his father who was still standing in the doorway, taking in the winter and the old memories. “Coming, papa?”

Sidorov looked over and smiled. He stepped out of the doorway and looked up into the sky above, sticking out his tongue and catching a snowflake almost immediately. Vadim, who was five, finally caught one on his tongue and immediately began jumping with excitement. “I got one, I got one papa! I got a snowflake!” He exclaimed, jumping up and down in the snow. Sidorov couldn’t help but smile.

Vadim fell back into the snow and started waving his up and down. Sidorov walked over and laughed, “Vadim you have to move your legs too.”

“Oh,” he replied before moving his legs together from side-to-side, as if to move like a worm. “No no no, you have to move them apart and back together,” he corrected. Soon Sergey joined in as well, then Sidorov himself.

The three climbed back up to their feet and looked on to their three snow angels. “Papa,” Sergey looked up to his father, “do you think Santa will like our snow angels?”

“Of course he will! He’ll love them, I know it!”

Vadim bent down and picked a lump of snow in his hand, molding it into a ball and throwing it into Sidorov’s black winter coat. “Hey!”

“Snowball fight!” Vadim shouted before running off to another corner of the lawn. Sergey was right behind him with a snowball of his own aimed for Vadim’s back. Sidorov looked back over to the doorway to see his wife standing in there, wearing a smile as Sergey and Vadim played.

“Would you like to join us?” He asked just before a snowball hit him in the face. “Hey headshots don’t count!”

“Yes they do!” Sergey corrected as Vadim threw a snowball at his shoulder. Sergey picked up another clump of snow and threw it into Vadim’s chest. Vadim managed to dodge it before running off.

Melaniya laughed as Sidorov wiped bits of snow off his face. “Sure, why not?” She ran outside and took some snow in her hands and threw it at her husband’s stomach. Sidorov took a lump of snow in his hand and molded it into a ball before throwing it into his wife’s shoulder.

A few minutes passed, and the Pevlovich family had escalated from snowball fight to snowball war. Sidorov and Sergey were ducked behind a small wall of snow on one corner of the lawn, while Melaniya and Vadim were hiding behind a snow fort of their own on the other side.

Sidorov peeked over the top of the little snow wall and looked back at Sergey. “Okay Sergey,” he whispered, “we each take a few snowballs, run over, and throw them at your mother and your little brother.” Sergey nodded and grabbed a few snowballs from the pile next to him. Sergey and Sidorov jumped up over the snow wall and ran towards the other two.

Melaniya looked up from her own snow wall. “Here they come, Vadim!” She and Vadim picked up some snowballs and started throwing them at Sidorov and Sergey as they rushed across the snow. Snowballs flew, hit and missed.

By now, snow had started to get in between the pieces of winter clothing; getting into coats through the colors or into snow boots.

“I’m cold,” Vadim complained, “I want hot coco.”

Sidorov and Melaniya looked at each other. “Sergey,” Sidorov got his son’s attention, “do you wanna go inside for some hot coco.” Sergey responded with a nod.

“Alrighty, let’s go get hot coco!”

Vadim and Sergey rushed ahead, eager to get warm inside. Sidorov went off to get a fire started in the fireplace and Melaniya went to make some hot coco. By the fireplace a christmas tree had been erected, with presents for the boys piled up just below its green pines. Vadim reached over for one of them, thinking he might be able to unwrap it without his parents noticing.

Sidorov looked over. “Vadim, don’t open the presents yet. Otherwise Santa might not come by our house.”

“Okay papa,” Vadim said as he put the present back down.

Sergey and Vadim went to get their cups of hot chocolate, topped off with some marshmallows. Sidorov walked over and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, moya lyubov’*.”

“Merry Christmas,” she replied.

---

*moya lyubov' = my love

 

[Pikabo]

Prompt: Write a short story about someone heading home from work.

At the Front
"Suspicious Activity"​

2014年5月8日
23:15
Star Day 4
Somewhere near Gaoling Town, Zhen

Dong Yahui has been watching the ZRK news channel on most nights to check on what's happening in the country since nothing happens here in the ZIHK. The only entertainment she has is this old television set hanging above from the ceiling. Not even a flatscreen! Cheapskates... One would think she'd have a very dangerous job when the mines she's looking after are already doing a pretty good job being dangerous. Who in their right mind would trespass a barbed, fenced area with big red signs, with a skull face, all over the place? Sad to see this is a very nice forest in the foothills. The nearby farming town of Gaoling could use a new place to hunt or explore. If Dong could, she would join the monthly surveyors who do routine checks of the surrounding area. Juvenile if people knew, she's in the military for the danger to satisfy her sense of dare-devil adventure.

Her backpack is leaning on the wall next to the door. Her shift is about to end in a minute, or two. She neglected to check her watch or the clock on the wall. Too transfixed by the monotonous, dull journalism format she has gotten used to since her maiden breakfast on the first day of elementary school. Whether the news was actually interesting or hypnotic, she snapped out of her trance. She let out a seething groan upon realizing the full extent of her boredom. It didn't help to know the nearest city, Fuqing City, is three counties away.

Situated on an elevated wooden outpost, high enough to view this suspicious bald spot sticking out like an illegal logging camp in the middle of a heavily forested area, she reckoned her attention could be manageably divided between two things at once. One consistent eye glance every minute or so should suffice. Her shift is almost over, she's got time to use for a moment of brain-wasting escapism.

Sighing contentedly at her plan, her mind drifting from foreign news about Prydania, something about an offensive to Alaterva or Vesturland, she already began to daydream.

She got on her hiking gear and backpack, holding a map and a compass in both hands, basking under a clear blue sky. The green trees, even the dirt trail, seem to illuminate under the bright sunlight. It looked like a scene from a movie.

An adult, romantic movie, she decided when caught sight of her companion. Andreas, that handsome Goyanean lieutenant she met in an inter-military seminar last month, is with her barely wearing anything apart from a pair of tight camo shorts. Bulging white torso slick in a glorious sheen of sweat, the very heights of masculinity bared boldly unto her possessive eyes... If only she worked up the courage to break the glass ceiling of traditional women society, always waiting for men to make the first move instead of taking initiative. She's only openly flirted with women because of this. Oh... if only...

"Um. Who's Anselm?"

Dong nearly jumped off her chair, dragging it backwards instead to move away from the intruder. She looked up at the next soldier-on-duty with a cringe on his face. She also cringed herself. Back at him. It was also awkward to know there will be a person who'll have a story to tell. God forbid if her commanding officer or Anselm were to ever hear about this.

I didn't even hear the door open! She was going to be baffled towards the other soldier until she realized it was her own fault. She was daydreaming. In the end, she didn't manage to divide attention between duty and that childish escapism.

"G-Good evening! Sorry!!" Dong bowed three times, though usually a gesture of great respect, is somehow appropriate. Or at least she thought it was. Looking at the blank stare on the other soldier's face, he didn't look convinced or sure about what she meant for her apology.

"...Good evening." The other soldier barely managed a nod.

Too embarrassed to converse or ask the soldier's name, she smiled her way to the door and gathered her belongings from there. She got out of the outpost without saying goodbye or wishing the man a good night or good luck for his shift. The door is already closed behind her, it's better to leave things awkward as it is than try to remedy it by doing another apology and make it a thousand times worse.

Dejected, she closed her eyes to take a deep breath in the small outpost balcony and accept the consequences of her actions. She put on her backpack and climbed her way down the ladder.

Maybe I should go back, apologize, and say goodbye. This thought lingered in her mind until she reached the ground. Though the effort to go up again required not a lot of energy, it weighed more on her conscience and societal expectations of proper courtesy.

"-Fuck! I have to go back!"

She stomped on the ground and grabbed onto the ladder handrail again. But before she could begin climbing up on the steps, her feet remained firmly planted on the ground when a flash of bright light came from...

The minefield?

She froze, furrowing her brows. That couldn't be. Nobody could have entered the minefield from behind, or from any other side of the barbed fence guarding said field full of literal mines. The only entrance is right here in front of the outpost, at the gate-

Her eyes quickly moved to check the gate. Not quick enough to comprehend the shadowy figures, the fence, or the elevated outpost, spinning around her as they slowly faded away. Or the sound of gunfire in the distance.

Or the bullet hole on her forehead.

Spoiler: OOC Notes

ZIHK- Zensk Ikkeharen Kreis (Zhen Demilitarized Zone)

 

[Pikabo]

Prompt: Write a short story about someone heading home from work.

SALURONG
Houses of Parliament​

"From my humble beginnings as Kanselor of Budget and Administration." Roming Halili said to his civil service counterpart, Gat Bondoc. "I'm now Kanselor of State and Security Affairs."

"Yeah. It's a weird coincidence isn't it, Kalihim?" Gat Bondoc smugly asked. Halili's eyebrow twitched at that. "I, who happened to be Permanent Vice Minister for the Budget and Administration Department, was confirmed the successor of Gat Magat as Permanent Vice Minister for the State and Security Affairs Department."

They were walking their way out of Balay Bayanihan, the office building for members of the Supreme Batasan. Honorable legislators of the United Federation. Although, perhaps, not-so honorable behind the scenes, Roming would like to think they all managed quite well at the end of the day. Now, he has to think about what he's going to cook for dinner before his wife comes home from work. If only he could focus on it completely. If it isn't for Gat Bondoc and her annoying fetish for power play.

"Speaking of promotions, what do you think of our new representative to the Iterian League?" Gat Bondoc asked out of nowhere. Still smiling like she's got Halili by the balls. Someday, it's gonna make me crazy.

"What? You mean Pake-mo? The guy was Deputy Head of Task Force for UFI Accession to the Iterian League." Halili rolled his eyes. Mentioning that man's name didn't roll so smoothly off his tongue. "I'd imagine he was a safe choice since the guy spent much of his time in the Foreign Service. Diplomat-at-heart my ass. He used a low profile to become an attractive appointee for difficult positions."

"You mean positions Pangulong Nakashad found too difficult to fill in due to party in-fighting." Gat Bondoc giggled. "Too many of your pack members climbing the greasy pole at the same time."

Speaking of greasy poles. Or rather, in Halili's case, a flagpole. "Nevermind that. What about the Tusacwyan Embassy Flag Incident?"

"I'm on it." Gat Bondoc winked at Halili. "Apparently, the old boss left without deciding on whether to punish the idiots involved in that unnecessary scandal."

Haili wanted to talk more about it but he opted against it. He changed his mind. If he didn't, he might have stroked Gat Bondoc's ego instead of satisfying his curiosity on the matter.

Oh well. Try to ignore her and think more about dinner.

Spoiler: OOC Notes

Gat - Tagapa word equivalent of "sir/dame." Used in various orders of Makodyan knighthood.
Kalihim - A Tagapa word meaning "confidant." It is also used by Tagapa officials and is equivalent to "secretary."
Pake-mo - Word referring to Tagapa phrase "Pake mo" which means in this context "What's it to you?" The word refers to a person who is prideful or arrogant.
Pangulong - Tagapa word for President (Pangulo). The "-ng" at the end is used when the word is a prefix/title preceding a person's name.

 

[Pikabo]

Prompt: Write a story in which the characters are warned not to go into the woods.

SALURONG
Tipolo Imperial Palace​

"Ginang High Representative! Ginang High Representative!! Where are you?!" Magbanua shouted. Cringing as he stepped onto the wet grass recently watered by sprinklers. He constantly looked out at those metallic spouters in case it turned on without warning.

"Ginang High Representative! Ginang High Representative!!" Magbanua kept shouting. He was walking towards one of the thick patches of woods in the palace grounds. Slowly scanning the empty lawn in front of him, mindful of the lake behind him that separates the main palace from the rest of the compound, there's clearly no Ginang High Representative in the area. Just as slow but surely, panic and concern grew inside him. Enough to make him frantically wave at the EPS people. " Hey! Hey!! She's in the woods!!"

Magbanua ran into the woods. Letting whatever foliage stain or rip on his suit. Their country's head of state is in here, somewhere. Was she really upset about Ang Banoy calling her a failure? "Ginang High Representative! Don't go into the woods!! It's not safe!"

He came into a clearing when, suddenly, "OW!!!"

"Ginang High Representative!" There she was. On the ground. The dirty shoe mark on the back of her beige pantsuit indicated to Magbanua what he just did.

"Before you apologize, Ginoong Magbanua, don't." Timuan pushed away Magbanua's helping hands and stood up on her own. She patted herself from the back, from the waist down, averting her eyes from Magbanua. "All this morning, I've been hearing so-claimed apologies from my so-called allies in the Cabinet. None of them bothered to stand up to Nakashad. It was embarrassing!"

"It wasn't all that embarrassing, Ginang." Magbanua made calming gestures at his boss. "It shouldn't even be a big deal."

"Oh! Not a big deal?" Timuan spoke as if she repeated what Magbanua said, even though he didn't say anything like that. "I've been announcing our choice for the past four weeks. For four weeks, I was under the impression we were booting Raj from the State and Security Department. Only to find out that psychopath wasn't going to be condemned to the Iterian League. Instead, he becomes Chief Cabinet Secretary."

Timuan began pacing back and forth. Magbanua didn't even notice they were in a small clearing hidden not so far behind the treeline. Does she come here often?

"And then, Nakashad gets Halili as a replacement INSTEAD of Sagaysay." Timuan started stomping hard, making the dead leaves crunch even louder. "I mean- I would've accepted Qhora into his retirement no questions asked IF Nakashad bothered to tell me she wanted somebody else. NO!!!" Timuan shouted and threw off Magbanua, taking several steps back. He watched Timuan throw her hands in the air. "SHE DIDN'T!!!"

"Well, why did you approve the appointments then?" Magbanua either has to deal with this shit or deal the heart of it head on. This can't go on for the rest of the day.

Timuan paused, thoughtful and murmuring. "...I was pressured. It was either agree with Nakashad or watch her let the press in and twist this story. I wasn't willing to let her ruin my pride."

"You know you could've held out longer..."

Timuan nodded. A hint of shame when her eyes started blinking repeatedly. "Yes, but people will think I'm trying to impose an imperial presidency. I've got to make sure of the balance of the semi-presidential system."

"So what do you want to do?" There's gotta be something that would stop Timuan from doing anything drastic.

"Umm..." Timuan gritted her teeth. It took her a long while, gnashing down on her munchers. Until, finally, she looked at the direction of the palace.

Timuan laughed. "Let's go back. I'm thirsty."

Spoiler: OOC Notes

EPS - Executive Protective Service
Ginang/Ginoong - Tagapa for Ma'am/Mrs. or Sir/Mr., respectively.

 

[costaazurica]

Prompt: "Write about your head of government getting into an argument with somebody"

February 17, 2021
Blue's Clues House
Great Stevia, Federal District of Johnsontown, Costa Azurica

It was already getting dark. The sun had sunk down below the mountainous horizons of Great Stevia. The Dog Star, which meant to symbolize prosperity of life, shined brightly in the night sky. Just at the moment the Azurican prime minister Donovan Patton, or Joe they call him, arrived at the Blue's Clues House, the sitter Joshua Dela Cruz came to meet him, holding a written note from the ADP.

"Joe, I need you for a bit." Josh then handed over the note to Donovan. He then scanned through word by word as he read the paper.

To Mr. Patton:
I have to write this note to inform you that international news reports were already mentioning your secret governmental organization The Detective Progression. I remember you once said that you don't want it to be heard around the world. And I guess some guy exposed it in front of everyone. I think it's over now.

- Leroy Maxwell

Donovan crumpled the note into a ball and threw it at Josh. "Did you just do this?"

The sitter was a bit nervous to reveal the truth. He accidentally mentioned the secret organization through BlueTalk.

With frowning eyes and biting lips, the prime minister was furious at him. "DID YOU JUST FUCKING EXPOSE THIS?!"

"Joe, I... I just..."

"TELL ME! DID YOU DO THIS?!"

"Joe, I thought you have been talking about this thing the whole time-"

"I don't care if you hear me say that shit, JUST TELL ME!!"

The house was getting noisier with the increasingly high volume of the argument, as both the prime minister and the sitter were quarreling with each other.

"I don't know who did that," said Josh. "But it could be someone who is familiar with the Detective Progression... I never said anything about your group..."

Hearing those words from the sitter's mouth, Donovan rushed to the computer and checked on the posts Josh had posted in BlueTalk. As he scrolled to see each post, in a flash he saw the name of his group, written in full words.

He grabbed Josh's shirt and pulled him to the computer. "You typed this thing, didn't you?"

"My boy, I'm really sorry... I never knew this was a secret but I was totally careless to post it."

Heaving a sigh, Donovan knew that it was a mistake that Josh had exposed the organization.

"Well, if that's the case... I forgive you."

The prime minister held the mouse and clicked on the "Delete" button so that no other news company could ever mention his secret group again. At last, everything was in good condition. Josh learned that every secret must be kept and not to be revealed, unless granted by someone who made that secret.

Spoiler: Author's Note

So this is my first attempt of making a story but to me, it didn't look quite well... But actually I tried giving a shot. Lol.

 

[Loz]

Prompt: "Write about your head of government getting into an argument with somebody"

Dining room of the Royal Palace, around Dinner time
Armenalis, Alnaria

He sat beside the old King as he often did at evening in Royal Palace. They had been dinner companions for sometime now, many long decades by his reckoning, although the old King would swear that the time was far shorter. Despite their usual enjoyment of each other's company, each and every night at dinner the same tired argument would play out. Things would begin peaceably enough but as the food would begin to disappear, so would the argument begin. He would beg and plead with the old King as best he knew how. Each night attempting to inform him of the gravity of the situation, each night trying to explain to him the desperate need for action. Each night however the King would fail to understand his requests and refuse him, lambasting him and demoralizing him for his efforts. Tonight he figured would be much the same, although it was his birthday so he was hopeful. Hopeful that just this once the King would give in and grant him what he desired. As the meal drew to a close he paced nervously around the King, once more beginning his tired song and dance. Something was different this time however, the usual stoicism upon the King's face was replaced by the smile and kind eyes. He could barely contain himself at the sight the expression. His once nervous pacing becoming almost a flurry of joy. "Happy birthday old boy." Said the King reaching out to hold his face. The King lowered his plate to the ground for him to eat off of. He eat happily, with tail wagging as the old man patted his head and scratched his ears. For him it was the finest of birthdays, and he would cherish these memories until the next dinner, where the argument would begin again.

 

[belve]

*walks into a unknowned room in a abandoned house*
i said in a tone trying to light the mood"well if i am ever found at least im in a cool place i guess"
*trips over a broke wood pile*
said in a painful tone"ow fudge ... were am i?"

 

[belve]

so im a little new to this and if i get some likes on it i can make it better