SK Wynter

Being stuck in that bunker made "Ranna" quite isolated from current events. After the radio shorted, she spent five hours rewiring it, and even then, it only picked up a few channels. With the weather report the only thing to break the heavy bunker silence, Annan puttered away with repairing technological scraps. The Big Book of Tech's rough draft was attacked and scribbled on, addenda made and previous changes scratched out, and the heater decided it would need some changing to. It was only when Annan was running her finger under water, burnt from a hot element, that she heard her name announced.... [i]"...Our new representative and legislator, Ranna Aunsby!"[/i] Annan stood up stiffly from the basin that caught the mostly-standard water. Staring at her wreck of a radio, her mouth hung open a little for a moment. Then, deadpan, she asked herself, "[i]...What[/i]?"

What kind of RP?

Meanwhile, a young and upcoming voice tries to speak out for the Techocratic Party, considering posing as one of them is the only thing keeping her from being deported. One Annan Rusby, roughly sixteen or seventeen (she's lost count at this point, having been stuck in an underground bunker with nothing but borderline dieselpunk tech), finally gets a radio working from her HQ. The connection is grainy, littered with static, but she's managed to get through with a broadcast. [u][b])*Public*([/b][/u] "Hello? Hello? Is this thing on? Oh, good, it is -- ahem. "Coming to you live from the Operation BBoT (Big Book of Tech) HQ, this is Professor Ranna Aunsby, Head Researcher and supporter of the Technocratic Progress Party." (Due to the shoddy state of Procinctian records, Annan had managed to fake her own death, create an imaginary twin she never knew existed as a replacement, and have that twin inherit the entire project. It was laughably easy, yet she was still paranoid of being found out.) "Why should you support the Technocrats? Because it is SCIENCE that shall rebuild us. It was SCIENCE that helped countless Procinctians survive the nukes. It was SCIENCE that cleaned up the radiation left behind. It was SCIENCE who jerry-rigged a number of steampunk-ish vehicles and weapons for us to use in defence of glorious Procinctia while she rebuilds. It was SCIENCE that drove Generalissimo's vision forward, that made him such a savvy survivalist. Generalissimo himself knew much of SCIENCE, and he used it to create survival methods to benefit us all! "So do the country a favour: vote Technocratic Progress for your leader. Do it for the take of [b]SCIENCE[/b]!" There was promptly a yowl over the radio, and it cut out. Annan had crossed wires at the last minute, the albino girl accidentally zapping herself.

Nation: Isles of Hiortkilda Ruler: Sk Wynter Link: http://www.cybernations.net/nation_drill_display.asp?Nation_ID=480304 Own Resources: [Spices] [Wine] Required Resources: [Cattle] [Fish] [Gems] [Pigs] [Silver] [Sugar] [Water] [Wheat] On blue team, blue traders preferred, but will accept any team colour as a trade partner.

"...Is the furry tail really necessary?" "Shut up, COP! I don't need no reason to question you, COP!" The officer sighed. He really, [i]really[/i] hated the crazy drunks, even more so than noisy women at traffic stops, or a call interrupting his lunch after missing breakfast. The eighteen-year old in front of him was crazy in his books, what with eyeblack smeared across her eyes like a mask, black nails to match black gloves, a headband with fake raccoon ears and a fluffy tail attached to her backside. [i]Oh wait, that's her belt.[/i] What was this woman, a furry? "'EY! WATCH THE TAIL! I maaaaaaaade it mehself!" argued the woman. She reeked of booze, and they had found her with a half-guzzled bottle of absinthe in one hand; her blood alcohol levels were off the charts. Worse, she had tried to get into a small car reported as stolen, succeeded, and had crashed that car against a telephone pole. The insurance company for the car's owner was probably going to have a fit. "Lean against the cruiser and keep your hands behind your back," the officer rattled off. "You have the right to remain silent ▬ " The cop wsa promptly cut off by being kicked in the ping-pongs by the drunk. She then turned her head with alarming speed, her wickedly green eyes narrowing, even if they were coloured contacts. The drunkard grinned alarmingly, and she still stank of absinthe ▬ hadn't she just nearly peed on him a minute before? "I love me some acting," was all she said, and then, the cop felt himself swung around and slammed into his own cruiser. Before he could regain his senses, she smashed her head into his nose repeatedly, and he suddenly released her and she drew back. From underneath her shirt, she whipped out something thin and silvery that glinted in the nearby headlights. Instinctively, the cop reached for his piece. "HEY!" bellowed the officer, pointing his gun. "DROP YOUR ▬ " He was cut off when the raccoon-inspired woman embedded the knife in his head with a throw. Grinning, she hummed a little diddy to herself, kneeling down and searched the cop. She took his gun, his wallet, his holster and the Tic-Tacs in his pocket, then stood up with a long, low whistle. "Aw man!" she said to herself. "!@#$% didn't have it! I [i]thought[/i] it would be here!" she gave an irritated sigh, then kicked at the ground. "Oh well. At least he fell for the absinthe trick. Now I know it works!" And with that, our amoral (or immoral) adventurer ran towards a nearby fence, hopped it, and jogged off into the distance as another car slowed towards the dead ocp. At least she had remembered to take her knife back. [hr] [quote]OOC: This is in no set country, just an English-speaking one; whomever gets here first can say it takes place in theirs.[/quote]

[i]Her head was pounding Nerves were sounding[/i] Oh, her [i]head[/i]. Her freaking, aching head. Bloodshot eyes slowly opened, full of grit and natural crust. Her arms and legs were sore from running for hours, and her mouth was as dry as a bone in an oven. The late morning sun beat down in its ultraviolet rhythm, and her delicate skin had already burned. Slowly, she stood up, having faceplanted into the sand some time before. Had she been there all night? Annan couldn't remember anything. [i]The vultures count the bodies Count the bodies (Count the bodies)[/i] She looked around, nothing in sight but sand. She looked upwards, where there was only sky and sun. She turned around, and lo and behold, there was a grainy road snaking through the sands. What a sight for sore eyes! (Justifiably so, from all the smoke that was in that damned club.) Seeing no other ultimatum but to wither away and die of dehydration, she walked towards it, and continued to walk along it. [i]And here begins another long and winding road.[/i] [hr] Well, she ended up walking for four hours, and by the time she reached a tiny rest stop, she was as red as a cherry. It was all she could do to stand up, get to the petite gas station, and croak for water. Then the world blurred and she rushed backwards, her eyes rolling up into the back of her head. Heat stroke, dehydration and no breakfast ▬ smashing. Like how she smashed the back of her head against the concrete step in front of the station! The next time she had woke up, she was in a hospital, diagnosed with severe sunburn and dehydration. She told the doctors she was poor and homeless, seeing no reason to lie, and that she had got lost from her refugee boat. They were a bit incredulous, asking how she could have come from the coast to somewhere hours from Marrakesh. Her answer? "I walked until I couldn't anymore." It was good enough for her, and good enough that the hospital had called the authorities to ship her out. In the meantime, she was left to read some old magazines, with someone in the bed across the room. She didn't know who, though, only that the curtain surrounded that person, and that said person was awfully quiet.

[i]She was running She was gunning She had been dancing She had been prancing[/i] The Marrakesh club and all its illicit beauty was somewhere far behind her. Old Grandfather was drunk, high, with women, she didn't know ▬ one of those God-forsaken states he was in. He was a hedonist, after all. [i]Cheap thrills Popping pills No such glory In indecent ills[/i] She should have never asked that woman about that passport. Annan's head felt swollen and she felt like she was flying; she had to be high from the smoke caused by burning substances. Why else would she stretch her arms like wings, and run for the nearby desert? [i]Sick puppy Cheap guppies Run away from All that madness that is done[/i] Was that foul man still behind her? Would she again risk being turned into a victim, something found in a back alley and turned into a police report? Never. That was not the way; Annan was above the disgusting habits of the club-goers and Old Grandfather. She'd even forgot Khris. [i]Run thief run Run like the wind Run thief run All the madness is done[/i] The night was bitterly cold, as it was always in the desert. By morning, she'd be a pale, burnt, baked potato in the desert. She hadn't even written up that "Big Book of Tech" she was supposed to for Procinctia; why now, of all places, had she just remembered that? [i]Spew and spite Like a snake's bite Full of fright Run thief run[/i] She was done. She'd find her own place, Pict or no Pict, Khris or no Khris. All she knew that, while she was intoxicated, she would be nowhere that people were at. She was running, unwanting of the cheap thrills; she wasn't going to end up like some sick puppy. [i]Run, thief, run![/i] her instincts and mind screamed, and she felt like she'd spew, and she was full of spite.

Florescent lights and partying nights, noxious smoke and inducing fumes ▬ Annan it did consume. As soon as she walked into the pounding place, sensory overload began to kick in. Colour, smell, sound, lights, all enough to send her into a seizure. She blinked, stunned like a deer in headlights, looking around as every pulse of sound seemed to ripple through her like a puddle. Old Grandfather merely bellowed a laugh, at home amongst the drugs, booze and taboos smashed and broken. "My kind of place, Annie!" the old Pict cried, throwing up his hands and running off to get lost in the music. Annan simply stared at him, then gazed at her surroundings with continued shock and awe. In her head, the pea rattled around uncomfortably, and Annan's mind began to drift. Boat, sparks, rain, a storm ▬ [i]blink[/i]. Blurred vision, disorientation, lost in the raving nation. She staggered, her hair and skin glowing like Khris's blond locks, and with both hands did Annan rub her temples. Then, without warning, a hand grabbed her roughly, and she was dragged off to the dance floor.

The small things in life that people do usually end up the most rewarding. Sometimes, it is rewarding; other times, it helps one dig their own grave. Annan wasn't sure which one would be correct to classify her circumstances under, and she could feel her face turn red. "What?" The flat, nearly horrified answer came from a jaw that threatened to drop. However, Annan quickly pulled herself together, clearing her throat and looking as dignified as possible. "Thank you for this honour, Mr. Speaker," said Annan. "I should start immediately. Better yet, I should go and start researching now. Thank you for your time, gentlemen and ladies, it was most worth it!" With that, Annan quickly left the conference, putting on a smile for good measure. After getting outside, she ran for her freaking life.

Now Anna's interest is perked. Her feelings of discomfort and horror suddenly turns to wondering. The woman said they could find anything ▬ [i]Anything?[/i] Even if Old Grandfather sleeps and doesn't respond, his granddaughter is certainly awake and thinking. She looks up, focusing only on the influenced woman's tired face, the cheeks puckered in and her expression woozy. Annan might be tired, but she is nothing compared to the trashed, giddy and gaudy expression of mankind that is the Mogatopian. Annan then speaks. "Could you get us all passports to the USI? And maybe a warm blanket for my grandfather?" She looks over at Khris, face alight with the expression of, "I have an idea." She says nothing to Khris, but the impish look in Annan's eyes, the concentration that stirs beyond the pink and black, is as strong as neon lights at night. Perhaps this is a bad thing, considering the company there are in, but what about [i]carpe diem[/i]? Wasn't that one of the ways to live to one-hundred years old?

"Perhaps we of Procinctia should lead the way with the Big Book of Tech by offering our own technological plans?" asked Annan. Looking at Doctor Hugo, she said, "Doctor, correct me if I'm wrong, but couldn't we start with the emergency vehicles and home-made tanks produced during Generalissimo's post-apocalyptic prevention spree not long after the nuclear devistation of Procinctia? Or was that after he was found in the Arctic? I believe he made twice a go at creating 'homemade tech', did he not?"

Annan is to reply to Khris's comment, but she is interrupted by a man and woman, smelling of something illegal. Their eyes are bloodshot, and the woman ▬ Annan's eyes dart away, and a piece of old gum on the floor is suddenly [i]very[/i] interesting. It seems as if the Mogatopian magazines have some basis in reality, and Annan's stomach cannot help but backflip and wind itself into a knot. [i]Oh boy.[/i] "Thank you very much for your compliments," says Annan, still not making eye contact with the barely decent woman. She doesn't want to seem rude, but no matter where she looks, she'll probably lose that battle. "I'm glad to hear vampires aren't a regular occurence, a-and I th-think a tan is sun-damaged skin, anyways. I burn and turn brick red, though, it's very embarassing." She's so close to stammering, that's how awkward Annan feels ▬ her eyes dart over to Khris with a youthful, "Help me," expression. For a moment, it's like a child asking their mother to navigate them through a rather confusing social situation...which this is. Annan wouldn't be caught dead wearing such things, and even when she was reduced to rags from being stranded on that foreign island, she killed a seal with her own hands to replace her clothing with its pelt.

Empress Therese ▬ the name strikes with familiarity. "I remember reading about her death," says Annan, "though I can't remember what it said about the funeral or whether or not they found the body. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think she died in battle, didn't she? There's this myth going around she lives again as a vampire. I saw it in one of those cheap paranormal magazines that claims the Marscurian Siberian royalty is descended from lizard people and a yeti. They even published a copy of a genetics test proving so." She appreciates that Khris isn't so sullen, but Annan does not laugh. Instead, her pink eyes stare at the Captain with a stronger curiosity. "Bonaparte is the name of the British Empress, isn't it?" asks Annan. "Did the Bonaparte line ever rule France? And I heard France is a warzone again. I can't remember if the operation had a name, just that there are travel restrictions. I also know there were a few French refugees back on the boat." Old Grandfather snorts in his sleep, then turns and mutters something about buttery pancakes. Annan leans back so that she is laying across her seat, staring at the dusty ceiling. A small bump in the road makes her bump her head a little, and she frowns and rubs the back of her skull. It is no serious hurt, however, and she continues talking. "I had a couple of people think I was a vampire," says Annan. "It was the eyes. My eyes are pink, but when I'm tired or sick, they get bloodshot and grow red. I also never really got off the boat in Africa ▬ someone told me some people there skin albinos alive."

Annan goes silent for another few minutes. If she and Khris were using a chat application, there would be a long trail of dots, an overexaggerated ellipsis, from Annan's chat handle. Eye contact is broken and she is deep in thought, mulling over Khris's words. "I don't ever remember living up there," says Annan. "I only remember my mother, and living at sea. Then Grandfather found me and I've been with him ever since. He says he wants to go to St. Kilda, but he doesn't have the papers to go there and he doesn't know how to get them." She is curious. France was taken from Khris? It sounds as if Khris was some sort of political ruler. But, she is probably more like Annan and Old Grandfather, and borders shifted and she was thrown out. Who is this woman of white hair and eyes green? Annan senses kinship, but cannot put her finger on whether that is true or not. There needs to be more talking, more exchanging, more information learned and given. It is time, once again, to listen; first, however, she must ask. "How was France stolen from you? Were you a politician? And why are you saying you'll live through me ▬ you don't look very old, or if you are, you look very good for your age. I just assumed you had white-blond hair."

"It seems you have a lot on your mind. Everything okay?" "Not really," says Annan. "Can't sleep. I think the sea made me so sore from all the waves that I fell asleep because I was half knocked out. I think too much in this quiet; it was nice at first, but now it's annoying. It's like a bee made a nest in my brain." Yes, this is the saner, less panicked Annan that Khris has picked up on. She had been hidden beneath that quirky brain, that brain with the pea rolling about. But now, there is only her and Khris, and the real Annan who isn't always confused. A blessing, it is, that she can communicate without blurting out strange, cryptic riddles without even trying. It makes her live up to the "mysterious and pale waif" stereotype she is trying to shake. "Is Khris short for Khristina or Khristiana?" asks Annan. "Annan means 'water'. The Annan Waters are a Celtic river. That's really all I can remember, that and it's a word from a dead language. Grandfather's into that sort of thing; the Pictish language is relatively unknown, and he's a Pict. He's bitter about that, I think." She looks at the gibbous moon again for a minute. Then, she looks back at Khris. "What is [i]up[/i] with these magazines they have for reading?"