Prussia - A Kaliningrad Story (Post WWII USSR Timeline)
- Thread starter Remitonov
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That would require the winning party to make that promise.
It's about to get a lot more soon. :3
Chapter 4-1
Nesselbeck Remand Center, Nesselbeck, Neuhausen Raion, Prussia
23 January, 2016
8.47 am
Nesselbeck, just outside the capital and the city of Neuhausen (formerly Guryevsk). Once known as Orlovka, the town, like many locales throughout East Prussia, is dominated by the looming facade of its medieval castle.[1] Its ruined facade juxtaposed with a modernist theme, many locals had long complained over the gaudy appearance. But the Prussian government continued to lack the funds to save every last Teutonic castle in their country, with the fate of the castle left to the hotel now in ownership.[2]
But the mangled castle was not the only locale Nesselbeck proved famous for. Located just off the main road, Nesselbeck Remand Center had become an ominous home for many of Prussia's rich and wealthy. A minimum security prison for high-profile corporate and political criminals, the center plays host to one particularly troublesome inmate. A man that half the country wished to see locked up forever, and the other freed from his 'falsified' charges, his presence in Nesselbeck had become a source of dread for wardens and guards who have had to deal with protests from his fanatical supporters. The fact that he remained defiant, appealing against the charges imposed on him by his prosecutors, was of little relief. Fortunately for them, perhaps, his family members seemed to possess more sense than his supporters.
Stepping through the brightly painted concrete corridors, a blonde man with long locks looked on in dread at the sterile surroundings, his thick sunglasses hung on the lapel of his red jacket betraying his age and outdatedness as he prepared to greet the prisoner. Besides him, Vasilka tried her hardest not to look at the blue guards around every corner. For a prison that was only meant to keep in white-collar workers, she could not help but think the guards had doubled in numbers each time they visit.
“In here,” the warden spoke professionally, letting them into the interview room, “try not to take too long. It's a bit odd for you to come this early in the morning. The guards aren't exactly used to morning routines.”
“Don't worry,” quipped the lad jokingly, “my daughter needs to head for her history class. If anyone is on edge, it's her. I think you know why by now.”
Pursing his lips a bit, the warden tried hard to hide his sympathies. As a civil servant, he had sworn by oath to abstain from politics, but the fact that the guards in Nesselbeck Prison had to be handpicked hinted otherwise. Perhaps there was still a lot to fear from New Prussia over their worst enemy, and the family that had dominated Soviet and post-Soviet Prussian politics. That a brief shouting contest between the two teenage scions of Prussia's rival dynasties was enough to make the news showed just how on edge the political scene had become.
Sitting behind the bulletproof screen as her father waited behind her, Vasilka felt unsure at what to say. She, like her father, was admitted not that close to the main family, their relationship tenuous due to the death of their grandfather, Vladimir. But their granduncle, Valeriy, never hesitated to shower his love for his brother's family, often treating her father and aunt, Lyubomir and Liliana, as his own. For that reason, the inmate himself was practically a brother to him, and his daughter Rayka a sister to Vasilka. The more she thought about it, the more she could not help but feel that New Prussia was making it their mission to tear them apart.
'Is this how that girl keeps living through her life,' she questioned herself, 'believing we have nothing better to do than to sit up all night thinking of more creative ways to make Gram's life a living hell?'
She could only hope Farahnaz had more sense than that. If every meeting was going to degenerate into a premiership debate, she was going to lose a lot of sleep for nothing. Looking up, she could see the similarly blonde inmate stepping in already, dressed in a plain shirt and jeans as he sat down to pick up the phone. Hesitating a bit, she felt nervous about telling him. How was he going to react? Would he get angry about this? Knowing her uncle, he would have taken anything against his family as a personal slight, particularly from a Gram. Picking up the phone, she finally decided to shake off the thought. Their uncle already has enough to worry about. She felt it was better if he did not have to worry about her.
“Good morning, Uncle Viktor,” she spoke to the inmate, the defiant former prime minister of Prussia, “are you okay?”
National Museum, Kyonigsberg, Prussia
23 January, 2016
9.23 am
The National Museum, situated in the old Königsburg Stock Exchange.[3] Rebuilt by the Soviet authorities, it is one of the few buildings in old Königsburg deemed of any value to the Kremlin due to its similarities to Russian neo-classicism. Today, it is the main repository of Prussia's historical legacy, from the days of the Baltic pagans to the modern day. On the flagpoles outside the entrance, the flags of Prussia's past and present flew in tandem, from the black cross of the Teutonic Order, the Polish-Lithuanian Royal Banner, the black eagle of the Prussian duchy and kingdom, to the tricolours of the German empire and republic. The only flag missing, the Nazi Hakenkreuz, was skipped for the red banner of the Soviet Union after. Finally, the tricolour of the West Baltic SSR stood by side with a duplicate, with the hammer and sickle removed for the latter. The present black-white-blue tricolour, Prussia's current flag, stood in front of the others, defining itself from its myriad past selves.[4]
Seated in a brightly furnished French-decor cafe in the museum's lobby, the hapless nonet – or currently octet - of blue-vested schoolgirls was waiting on their friend to arrive. Unusual for the locale and time, the new cafe, Patisserie La Soleil, was playing host to a startling flood of students on a bright Saturday morning. Many of them, unlike the girls, were not from Vorarlberg's class. From the looks of it, it appeared today's class was specially tailored for a combined class, one that only the museum could cater.
Peering over the top, Tarana looked apprehensive at the surge of students in the museum, some of whom appeared to have come from far better schools than their own. The sea of black covering an entire side section, in particular, caught her attention, as the chatter filled with all sorts of Western European languages. Peeking beside her, Zisel herself seemed intrigued, though the appearance of the cafe's unique 'cat maids' – waitresses dressed in French maid uniforms and cat ears and tails – distracted her again.
“Parfait please,” Zisel eagerly blurted to the black-haired, twintail waitress, as Leila squealed for her own order.
“It's morning,” Maria reprimanded, “watch your diet, will you?”
“But it's so sweet,” Zisel begged, “and it's not every day we come to La Soleil.”
“Why'd they even have a cafe like this in a museum,” the Armenian grumbled, “I expected this near an anime store, not in a place like this.”
“What'd you have against cat maids,” weeped the girl, making a cat-like pout at Maria's sneering as she suddenly grasped the startled waitress' hand, “I believe in you, miss~! Pay no attention to this cat-hater-achoo!”
“Y-You welcome,” the hapless waitress could only respond, a bit creeped out by her gestures, “and bless you. I'll fetch your order.”
Watching the employee flee hastily, Maria quipped snidely, “I hope you're happy. If you were a guy, she might have slapped you already. No... I might have slapped you regardless. And what are you looking at, Tarana? Looking for that psycho Farsi again? Relax, Vasilka isn't here yet, and I don't think that girl will wilfully look for trouble if the press hangs on to her like glue.”
“Quiet already,” Tarana whispered, shushing the group with a nervous glare, “she's there.”
“Who,” Maria queried, peering over as well.
“Die Schwarzer Königin,” hissed Tarana, pointing at the mob of students in black uniforms. Seated in neatly-dressed uniforms and pleated skirts, it did not take much to guess that the schoolgirls came from a prestigious school. The black cross school insignia, in fact, hinted at a Catholic school, even one funded by the Teutonic Order itself.[5] But the most striking figure among the mob of girls was a head of strawberry pink, tied in a braid as the girls around her giggled and chatted with her. Spying at the conspicuous schoolgirl, Tarana seemed a bit too obsessed with her for comfort.
“Who,” Ludmilla queried, “I speak German and even I don't know what 'the Black Queen' is. Is it some sort of code.”
“Don't be silly,” Tarana griped, feeling agitated as she slipped back down to fiddle with her phone, she quickly opened a music video on her cellphone, with music filling the table as a girl with the target's likeness appeared on the screen. The title below, as it turned out, said it all.
“'Mia Trier – Maiden of the Iron Fortress',” Ausra mused, “isn't that a spinoff of Starlight Maidens?”[6]
“You actually watch that crap,” Tarana queried sarcastically, “not surprised, but I expected better. But yeah, she sung the opening for the series.”
“But who's Mia,” grumbled Maria, “you haven't answered at all.”
“H-How dare you,” blurted the agitated girl in outrage, “you never heard of Mia!? She's been an idol since she was 13. She's even joining the national selection for Eurovision this year. Come to think of it, she should be my age by now.”
“Your age,” mused Leila inquisitively, trying to count the years. Annoyed, the midget girl yelled, “I'm 17, junior! Same age as Vasilka and Ludmilla! What, I don't look mature enough for you!?”
“I honestly wouldn't have guessed,” Ludmilla admitted playfully, faking an innocent look, “I always thought you were younger.”
As the agitated loli look set to blow, a familiar head of blonde quietly showed herself in. Noticing the scuffle, Vasilka spoke, “sorry I took so long, everyone. My dad wanted to pay a visit to my uncle at Nesselbeck Prison.”
“Nesselbeck,” Ritva questioned, “I see. How're they doing then?”
“Fine,” Vasilka simply said, sitting down beside Ludmilla, “my uncle is stubborn as usual. He intends to fight the charges to the bitter end. What about you girls.”
“Oh,” Mariyne blurted, “Tarana is stalking idols again. One of them is in the cafe with that crowd of students in black uniforms. I think her name was Mia something...”
“Mia Trier, you pleb,” growled Tarana, “and she's from St. Elisabeth Catholic Girls School. I suspect they're here for Vorarlberg's class. How did I not see her before?”
“Because she wasn't there before,” suggested Ritva, “I don't think they're in Professor Vorarlberg's class specifically. Maybe we're having a combined class with others in the history program.”
“Seems like it,” Ausra quipped, getting off her seat, “well, what're we waiting for? We should get going to the exhibit then-”
“But my parfait,” blurted the started Zisel, panicking with Leila as the girls prepared to leave. Hauling the poor girls out of the seats, Ritva stated firmly, “we'll order to go. Class is starting in a few minutes, we don't want to be late.”
Dragging the hopeless pigs away, the girls were soon on their way to the cashier, ready to delve into the museum for their newest journey into the life and times of Soviet Prussia. Unbeknownst to them, a few eyes had already fixed on to them as the noise made by the sweet tooths rattled for the attention of the club. Looking over, the girls of St. Elisa were quick to identify them. Whispering into the idol's ear, they seemed bewildered by their fellow peers.
“Isn't that Muse,” asked one of the students beside Mia, “I heard they're going to compete in the national selection for Eurovision.”
“No, they're not,” griped another, “you're talking about the independence celebrations. Some of them aren't even old enough to join Eurovision, after all. Just ask Mia. She's been waiting four years to meet their age requirements.”
“Ah, that's good, I suppose,” blurted the girl, looking a bit concerned as Mia stared on at the nonet, “she's up against Rhapsodos and Tre Stelle as it is. Is she going to make the Eurovision qualifiers?”
But Eurovision appeared the least of the pink-haired girl's concerns, her eyes fixed on the girls as they shuffled their whining members out. Bowing her head a bit, the young girl twiddled her thumbs at the thought. School idols seemed like a very alien concept for her, when the line between friend and pop idol blurred beyond recognition. For someone who had always performed solo and in a professional capacity, people like them may as well be pinned as amateurs, though experienced seemed to be proving her wrong.
“School idols,” she mused, “strange...”
Part 1
23 January, 2016
8.47 am
Nesselbeck, just outside the capital and the city of Neuhausen (formerly Guryevsk). Once known as Orlovka, the town, like many locales throughout East Prussia, is dominated by the looming facade of its medieval castle.[1] Its ruined facade juxtaposed with a modernist theme, many locals had long complained over the gaudy appearance. But the Prussian government continued to lack the funds to save every last Teutonic castle in their country, with the fate of the castle left to the hotel now in ownership.[2]
But the mangled castle was not the only locale Nesselbeck proved famous for. Located just off the main road, Nesselbeck Remand Center had become an ominous home for many of Prussia's rich and wealthy. A minimum security prison for high-profile corporate and political criminals, the center plays host to one particularly troublesome inmate. A man that half the country wished to see locked up forever, and the other freed from his 'falsified' charges, his presence in Nesselbeck had become a source of dread for wardens and guards who have had to deal with protests from his fanatical supporters. The fact that he remained defiant, appealing against the charges imposed on him by his prosecutors, was of little relief. Fortunately for them, perhaps, his family members seemed to possess more sense than his supporters.
Stepping through the brightly painted concrete corridors, a blonde man with long locks looked on in dread at the sterile surroundings, his thick sunglasses hung on the lapel of his red jacket betraying his age and outdatedness as he prepared to greet the prisoner. Besides him, Vasilka tried her hardest not to look at the blue guards around every corner. For a prison that was only meant to keep in white-collar workers, she could not help but think the guards had doubled in numbers each time they visit.
“In here,” the warden spoke professionally, letting them into the interview room, “try not to take too long. It's a bit odd for you to come this early in the morning. The guards aren't exactly used to morning routines.”
“Don't worry,” quipped the lad jokingly, “my daughter needs to head for her history class. If anyone is on edge, it's her. I think you know why by now.”
Pursing his lips a bit, the warden tried hard to hide his sympathies. As a civil servant, he had sworn by oath to abstain from politics, but the fact that the guards in Nesselbeck Prison had to be handpicked hinted otherwise. Perhaps there was still a lot to fear from New Prussia over their worst enemy, and the family that had dominated Soviet and post-Soviet Prussian politics. That a brief shouting contest between the two teenage scions of Prussia's rival dynasties was enough to make the news showed just how on edge the political scene had become.
Sitting behind the bulletproof screen as her father waited behind her, Vasilka felt unsure at what to say. She, like her father, was admitted not that close to the main family, their relationship tenuous due to the death of their grandfather, Vladimir. But their granduncle, Valeriy, never hesitated to shower his love for his brother's family, often treating her father and aunt, Lyubomir and Liliana, as his own. For that reason, the inmate himself was practically a brother to him, and his daughter Rayka a sister to Vasilka. The more she thought about it, the more she could not help but feel that New Prussia was making it their mission to tear them apart.
'Is this how that girl keeps living through her life,' she questioned herself, 'believing we have nothing better to do than to sit up all night thinking of more creative ways to make Gram's life a living hell?'
She could only hope Farahnaz had more sense than that. If every meeting was going to degenerate into a premiership debate, she was going to lose a lot of sleep for nothing. Looking up, she could see the similarly blonde inmate stepping in already, dressed in a plain shirt and jeans as he sat down to pick up the phone. Hesitating a bit, she felt nervous about telling him. How was he going to react? Would he get angry about this? Knowing her uncle, he would have taken anything against his family as a personal slight, particularly from a Gram. Picking up the phone, she finally decided to shake off the thought. Their uncle already has enough to worry about. She felt it was better if he did not have to worry about her.
“Good morning, Uncle Viktor,” she spoke to the inmate, the defiant former prime minister of Prussia, “are you okay?”
National Museum, Kyonigsberg, Prussia
23 January, 2016
9.23 am
The National Museum, situated in the old Königsburg Stock Exchange.[3] Rebuilt by the Soviet authorities, it is one of the few buildings in old Königsburg deemed of any value to the Kremlin due to its similarities to Russian neo-classicism. Today, it is the main repository of Prussia's historical legacy, from the days of the Baltic pagans to the modern day. On the flagpoles outside the entrance, the flags of Prussia's past and present flew in tandem, from the black cross of the Teutonic Order, the Polish-Lithuanian Royal Banner, the black eagle of the Prussian duchy and kingdom, to the tricolours of the German empire and republic. The only flag missing, the Nazi Hakenkreuz, was skipped for the red banner of the Soviet Union after. Finally, the tricolour of the West Baltic SSR stood by side with a duplicate, with the hammer and sickle removed for the latter. The present black-white-blue tricolour, Prussia's current flag, stood in front of the others, defining itself from its myriad past selves.[4]
Peering over the top, Tarana looked apprehensive at the surge of students in the museum, some of whom appeared to have come from far better schools than their own. The sea of black covering an entire side section, in particular, caught her attention, as the chatter filled with all sorts of Western European languages. Peeking beside her, Zisel herself seemed intrigued, though the appearance of the cafe's unique 'cat maids' – waitresses dressed in French maid uniforms and cat ears and tails – distracted her again.
“Parfait please,” Zisel eagerly blurted to the black-haired, twintail waitress, as Leila squealed for her own order.
“It's morning,” Maria reprimanded, “watch your diet, will you?”
“But it's so sweet,” Zisel begged, “and it's not every day we come to La Soleil.”
“Why'd they even have a cafe like this in a museum,” the Armenian grumbled, “I expected this near an anime store, not in a place like this.”
“What'd you have against cat maids,” weeped the girl, making a cat-like pout at Maria's sneering as she suddenly grasped the startled waitress' hand, “I believe in you, miss~! Pay no attention to this cat-hater-achoo!”
“Y-You welcome,” the hapless waitress could only respond, a bit creeped out by her gestures, “and bless you. I'll fetch your order.”
Watching the employee flee hastily, Maria quipped snidely, “I hope you're happy. If you were a guy, she might have slapped you already. No... I might have slapped you regardless. And what are you looking at, Tarana? Looking for that psycho Farsi again? Relax, Vasilka isn't here yet, and I don't think that girl will wilfully look for trouble if the press hangs on to her like glue.”
“Quiet already,” Tarana whispered, shushing the group with a nervous glare, “she's there.”
“Who,” Maria queried, peering over as well.
“Die Schwarzer Königin,” hissed Tarana, pointing at the mob of students in black uniforms. Seated in neatly-dressed uniforms and pleated skirts, it did not take much to guess that the schoolgirls came from a prestigious school. The black cross school insignia, in fact, hinted at a Catholic school, even one funded by the Teutonic Order itself.[5] But the most striking figure among the mob of girls was a head of strawberry pink, tied in a braid as the girls around her giggled and chatted with her. Spying at the conspicuous schoolgirl, Tarana seemed a bit too obsessed with her for comfort.
“Who,” Ludmilla queried, “I speak German and even I don't know what 'the Black Queen' is. Is it some sort of code.”
“Don't be silly,” Tarana griped, feeling agitated as she slipped back down to fiddle with her phone, she quickly opened a music video on her cellphone, with music filling the table as a girl with the target's likeness appeared on the screen. The title below, as it turned out, said it all.
“'Mia Trier – Maiden of the Iron Fortress',” Ausra mused, “isn't that a spinoff of Starlight Maidens?”[6]
“You actually watch that crap,” Tarana queried sarcastically, “not surprised, but I expected better. But yeah, she sung the opening for the series.”
“But who's Mia,” grumbled Maria, “you haven't answered at all.”
“H-How dare you,” blurted the agitated girl in outrage, “you never heard of Mia!? She's been an idol since she was 13. She's even joining the national selection for Eurovision this year. Come to think of it, she should be my age by now.”
“Your age,” mused Leila inquisitively, trying to count the years. Annoyed, the midget girl yelled, “I'm 17, junior! Same age as Vasilka and Ludmilla! What, I don't look mature enough for you!?”
“I honestly wouldn't have guessed,” Ludmilla admitted playfully, faking an innocent look, “I always thought you were younger.”
As the agitated loli look set to blow, a familiar head of blonde quietly showed herself in. Noticing the scuffle, Vasilka spoke, “sorry I took so long, everyone. My dad wanted to pay a visit to my uncle at Nesselbeck Prison.”
“Nesselbeck,” Ritva questioned, “I see. How're they doing then?”
“Fine,” Vasilka simply said, sitting down beside Ludmilla, “my uncle is stubborn as usual. He intends to fight the charges to the bitter end. What about you girls.”
“Oh,” Mariyne blurted, “Tarana is stalking idols again. One of them is in the cafe with that crowd of students in black uniforms. I think her name was Mia something...”
“Mia Trier, you pleb,” growled Tarana, “and she's from St. Elisabeth Catholic Girls School. I suspect they're here for Vorarlberg's class. How did I not see her before?”
“Because she wasn't there before,” suggested Ritva, “I don't think they're in Professor Vorarlberg's class specifically. Maybe we're having a combined class with others in the history program.”
“Seems like it,” Ausra quipped, getting off her seat, “well, what're we waiting for? We should get going to the exhibit then-”
“But my parfait,” blurted the started Zisel, panicking with Leila as the girls prepared to leave. Hauling the poor girls out of the seats, Ritva stated firmly, “we'll order to go. Class is starting in a few minutes, we don't want to be late.”
Dragging the hopeless pigs away, the girls were soon on their way to the cashier, ready to delve into the museum for their newest journey into the life and times of Soviet Prussia. Unbeknownst to them, a few eyes had already fixed on to them as the noise made by the sweet tooths rattled for the attention of the club. Looking over, the girls of St. Elisa were quick to identify them. Whispering into the idol's ear, they seemed bewildered by their fellow peers.
“Isn't that Muse,” asked one of the students beside Mia, “I heard they're going to compete in the national selection for Eurovision.”
“No, they're not,” griped another, “you're talking about the independence celebrations. Some of them aren't even old enough to join Eurovision, after all. Just ask Mia. She's been waiting four years to meet their age requirements.”
“Ah, that's good, I suppose,” blurted the girl, looking a bit concerned as Mia stared on at the nonet, “she's up against Rhapsodos and Tre Stelle as it is. Is she going to make the Eurovision qualifiers?”
But Eurovision appeared the least of the pink-haired girl's concerns, her eyes fixed on the girls as they shuffled their whining members out. Bowing her head a bit, the young girl twiddled her thumbs at the thought. School idols seemed like a very alien concept for her, when the line between friend and pop idol blurred beyond recognition. For someone who had always performed solo and in a professional capacity, people like them may as well be pinned as amateurs, though experienced seemed to be proving her wrong.
“School idols,” she mused, “strange...”
Part 1
- All names found here (Russian).
- Yes, I am as shocked as you are. This is how the castle looks now IOTL, and I don't think the Prussian government would have that much money to spare to save every ruin throughout the country.
- See last post.
- I like your flag best, Neroteros. :3
- Yes, the Teutonic Knights still exist, both IOTL and TTL, though only as a charitable organisation.
- 'Animu series' TTL, drawn from my old and now defunct RP, and influenced by the AH forum by a great deal.
- Students
- Singenwaldhang Girls High School (from left to right)
- Aušra Švedaitė (CV: 高坂 穂乃果)
- Ritva Pajari (CV: 園田 海未)
- Mariyne Mugu (CV: 南 ことり)
- Maria Hayrapetyan (CV: 西木野 真姫)
- Tarana Irevani (CV: 矢澤 にこ)
- Vasilka Lyobomirova Toncheva (CV: 絢瀬 絵里)
- Ludmilla Aleksandrova von Ungern-Sternberg (CV: 東條 希)
- Leila Pääsuke (CV: 小泉 花陽)
- Zisel Kaufmann (CV: 星空 凛)
- St. Elisabeth of Thuringia Catholic Girls School
- Mia Trier (CV: 楪 いのり)
- Singenwaldhang Girls High School (from left to right)
- La Soleil Staff
- Waitress (CV: ショコラ)
- Others
- Lyubomir Vladimirovich Tonchev (CV:
シャア・アズナブルクワトロ・バジーナ) - Viktor Valerievich Tonchev (CV: マクギリス・ファリド)
- Lyubomir Vladimirovich Tonchev (CV:
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That discussion in the anime thread has had... unexpected consequences.
Yes, it had. :3
Anyway, apologies for the lack of update these past few days. Been a bit hard to come up with new posts. >_>
Danke! Yes, I had to make the Japanese title myself. The more stylish fonts I had was only meant for Latin alphabets, so I made my own kana using Clip Studio Art. :3
Of course, that was just kana. The title I made for my Girls und Panzer RP had Kanji...
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It's absurd how aesthetically pleasing kanji is...Of course, that was just kana. The title I made for my Girls und Panzer RP had Kanji...
Could I request a title design later on? These look amazing.
Good update! The fact that there's an anime themed cafe right next to a museum amused me, heh... Anyway, it's really interesting to see the different family and political feuds around there. I'm looking forward to the visit to the museum, I'm sure it will be very informative.
Anyway, in the next episode:
Omake - Journey to Rio
Status Update: I know I promised to get the next part out. The bad news is, it's going slowly, and still a lot of content to go. If any of you are disappointed by the delays, I truly apologize. So instead, I have this up. The timing is too good to pass up. :3
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
5 August, 2016, Brasília time
Rio de Janeiro, host of the 31st Olympiad.
It had been a year of grave uncertainty, and the latest in a very long line since the 21st century. From the fallout of Britain's impending exit from the EU, terror in the heart of Europe and the continuing bloodbaths in the Middle East and former USSR, little seemed able to absolve the world, even for the moment, of the dark realities that continue to shape history. Not even the Olympics itself, the great unifier of nations in the goodwill of sport, was immune, from Russia's state-sponsored doping expose, to Rio's long list of problems in health, pollution, poverty and crime.
But tonight, Rio has persevered. Tonight, the drive of thousands for their dreams begin. Most will fail. Some will succeed. But the journey to Rio begins here, and for the next two weeks, camaraderie, not violence, will prevail.
Waiting in their rooms as the parade of nations shuffled out into the Maracanã, one nervous Olympian rubbed her hand as the echo of cheers and samba drums radiated into the walls. She had trained her whole life to reach Rio, and follow her cousin to compete in the Brazillian arenas. Combing her hair, the twintail, Oriental girl could not shake of her discomfort. She was not sure if she was daunted by the waiting audience, or simply unsure at how to act as they enter the stadium field.
Her dress, a blue coat jacket over a white shirt, was paired with a pleated blue-based skirt with black and white grid patterns. A black bow tie completed the Prussian tricolour motif, though her elders preferred shawls or scarves to something inappropriate for their age. Their male counterparts, dressed in all black over their white shirts and blue ties and scarves, faced a far less enjoyable trek under the tropical South American climate. One of the coaches, a hazel-eyed, seemingly young man with dyed blonde hair, looked set to brace for the heat, reluctant to button up his shirt under the air conditioning until the very last moment. Giggling at the sight, the twintail-wearing girl could not help but imagine the scene ahead, given the coach's laidback attitude. Looking by the side, she saw her cousin, holding up the Prussian tricolour upright in his hand as he rested the flagpole on the floor. Watching the swimmer chat with his fellow teammates as one of the girls coyly adjusted his jacket, the hapless gymnast could not help but bite her lip.
“Jealous,” a voice teased in her ear, as the surprised girl yelped in shock. Noticing her redhead, similarly twintail-wearing teammate inching close to her face, the Oriental griped, “don't do that, Nastya! I get jumpy when you do that! Besides, why should I be jealous? He's my cousin.”
“But Anna, he's Stefan Park, the London gold medallist and flagbearer in Rio,” joked the spunky girl, “the star of the Olympics back home. If you're not careful, someone from this very room might swipe him away~. You know how your family likes to churn out Olympians? Loosen up, though. We can worry about training and competition tomorrow. Now's the time to smile and wave~!”
“A-Ah...” went the girl awkwardly. True, if there was any time she should be concerned about, it would be near the final three days. There, she and her rhythmic gymnastics team will be competing in the Arena Olímpica do Rio. Compared to this, the dread of fighting for gold against the sporting powers of the US, China and Russia would be even greater. But something else worried her right now, particularly given her position as an Olympic athlete. While Anna Svetovidovna Pak was no stranger to pressure on the floor mat, she was now a representative of Prussia, thousands of kilometers from home with many of her countrymen, let alone her family, on their television sets late in the night. Her grandmother, herself an ex-Soviet rhythmic gymnast and her role model, had always held high standards for herself and her charges. Given the one thing the Paks produce other than military men were Olympians, it was hard not to see why. But looking at the swimming coach and uncle, Oleg Yevgenevich, relaxing under the chilled air, he did not appear as eager to play the patriot Peering at the flag held in Stefan's hands, she felt confused at how to act.
“I'll try,” she muttered, “just not sure how to act later. You know how uptight my granny is. Said I have to stay composed and dignified, being Prussia's representative and all that. Unc- Stefan's coach just told me to relax and enjoy, though. I don't know who to listen to.”
Pouting at the girl's trivialities, Nastya eagerly poked her head as a tease. Grinning as she adjusted her friend's bowtie, she assured her, “just relax, ok? We're not in some military parade, so just be yourself. I don't think your grandmother will blame you for indulging in festivities as long as you don't do anything silly. Oh, and don't forget your seed. Do you part for the environment~!”
Watching Nastya put a small bean on Anna's palm, the hapless girl could not help but stare at the seed. It seemed like a dull gimmick, putting a seed in the pod for planting in the Athlete's Garden just to make a point for environmentalism of some sort. Given the conditions of Rio, she hated to imagine the turnout many years down the road. Somehow, it seemed pointless to try. Even so, the thought did count did count, unable to dismiss such a gesture as meaningless. Whatever happens to it is outside her power, but neglecting to try was. Pocketing the seed, in her jacket, she could see the local usher calling the athletes out in Portuguese-accented English. Getting to her feet, she quietly dusted herself off as they prepared to assemble.
“Mh~! Let's go!”
Stadium Entrance, Maracanã Stadium
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
5 August, 2016, Brasília time
Marching through the gantry as the technicolour lights glittered in the distance, Anna felt a bit dwarfed by the festive mood. Wedged between the Portuguese and Kenyan teams, Prussia's fourty-odd athletes and handful of officials appeared halved in size compared to their adjacent contingents. Led on by the bicycle cart at the front, the contingent trudged forth as drummers in bright blue suits played away in the excitement behind. With a small Prussian flag on one hand and her phone in the other, the Koryo-saram could hear the cheers pouring ahead, reaching deafening levels as the Portuguese vanished into the exit.
“I don't recall the cheers being this loud before,” Anna mused, shielding her eyes from the blinding lights of the stadium.
“That's because they're the Portuguese,” a brunette teammate with shoulder-length hair answered, “good or bad, it's hard to deny the locals have an affinity to their past.”[1]
“But that means the cheers for us will be even softer by comparison, Elena,” complained.
Giggling at the dismay, the girl answered reassuringly, “you can't blame them, though. We're just one out of two hundred over teams competing. They have to save the most cheers for last.”
Stepping into the stadium as dancing volunteers in colourful, signboard costumes point the way down the road, the girls felt almost overwhelmed. Already, a good half of the entire parade were already there, cheering on each new arrival while snapping pictures of the festivities. Some gave their thumbs up at the posts where they deposited their seeds for planting. Others danced to the samba music welcoming the athletes and officials to the ceremony. On hindsight, Anna felt silly even worrying about how to act. This was Rio. And this was a celebration.
“Prusse. Prussia. Prússia,” went the announcers over the speakers, as Stefan led the contingent in with the waving tricolour. Waving to the cameras zeroes on them, the athletes eagerly waved as they huddled for pictures with their phones. Swimmers, shooters, gymnasts, runners... it was no secret that Prussia's Olympic legacy came directly from the USSR. Even those in the current team of coaches, some of whom represented Prussia for the first time in Barcelona in 1992, were the result of the Soviets' medal-winning sporting program.[2] But six Olympiads on and with the torch passed from the old Soviet Olympians, their efforts and victories will be entirely their own, and their young nation's.
This will be Prussia's seventh Olympiad; and Anna's first in Rio.
Journey to Rio
OOC Notes:
Cast
______________________________
Prussian Olympic Team Waiting Room, Maracanã StadiumRio de Janeiro, Brazil
5 August, 2016, Brasília time
Rio de Janeiro, host of the 31st Olympiad.
It had been a year of grave uncertainty, and the latest in a very long line since the 21st century. From the fallout of Britain's impending exit from the EU, terror in the heart of Europe and the continuing bloodbaths in the Middle East and former USSR, little seemed able to absolve the world, even for the moment, of the dark realities that continue to shape history. Not even the Olympics itself, the great unifier of nations in the goodwill of sport, was immune, from Russia's state-sponsored doping expose, to Rio's long list of problems in health, pollution, poverty and crime.
But tonight, Rio has persevered. Tonight, the drive of thousands for their dreams begin. Most will fail. Some will succeed. But the journey to Rio begins here, and for the next two weeks, camaraderie, not violence, will prevail.
Waiting in their rooms as the parade of nations shuffled out into the Maracanã, one nervous Olympian rubbed her hand as the echo of cheers and samba drums radiated into the walls. She had trained her whole life to reach Rio, and follow her cousin to compete in the Brazillian arenas. Combing her hair, the twintail, Oriental girl could not shake of her discomfort. She was not sure if she was daunted by the waiting audience, or simply unsure at how to act as they enter the stadium field.
Her dress, a blue coat jacket over a white shirt, was paired with a pleated blue-based skirt with black and white grid patterns. A black bow tie completed the Prussian tricolour motif, though her elders preferred shawls or scarves to something inappropriate for their age. Their male counterparts, dressed in all black over their white shirts and blue ties and scarves, faced a far less enjoyable trek under the tropical South American climate. One of the coaches, a hazel-eyed, seemingly young man with dyed blonde hair, looked set to brace for the heat, reluctant to button up his shirt under the air conditioning until the very last moment. Giggling at the sight, the twintail-wearing girl could not help but imagine the scene ahead, given the coach's laidback attitude. Looking by the side, she saw her cousin, holding up the Prussian tricolour upright in his hand as he rested the flagpole on the floor. Watching the swimmer chat with his fellow teammates as one of the girls coyly adjusted his jacket, the hapless gymnast could not help but bite her lip.
“Jealous,” a voice teased in her ear, as the surprised girl yelped in shock. Noticing her redhead, similarly twintail-wearing teammate inching close to her face, the Oriental griped, “don't do that, Nastya! I get jumpy when you do that! Besides, why should I be jealous? He's my cousin.”
“But Anna, he's Stefan Park, the London gold medallist and flagbearer in Rio,” joked the spunky girl, “the star of the Olympics back home. If you're not careful, someone from this very room might swipe him away~. You know how your family likes to churn out Olympians? Loosen up, though. We can worry about training and competition tomorrow. Now's the time to smile and wave~!”
“A-Ah...” went the girl awkwardly. True, if there was any time she should be concerned about, it would be near the final three days. There, she and her rhythmic gymnastics team will be competing in the Arena Olímpica do Rio. Compared to this, the dread of fighting for gold against the sporting powers of the US, China and Russia would be even greater. But something else worried her right now, particularly given her position as an Olympic athlete. While Anna Svetovidovna Pak was no stranger to pressure on the floor mat, she was now a representative of Prussia, thousands of kilometers from home with many of her countrymen, let alone her family, on their television sets late in the night. Her grandmother, herself an ex-Soviet rhythmic gymnast and her role model, had always held high standards for herself and her charges. Given the one thing the Paks produce other than military men were Olympians, it was hard not to see why. But looking at the swimming coach and uncle, Oleg Yevgenevich, relaxing under the chilled air, he did not appear as eager to play the patriot Peering at the flag held in Stefan's hands, she felt confused at how to act.
“I'll try,” she muttered, “just not sure how to act later. You know how uptight my granny is. Said I have to stay composed and dignified, being Prussia's representative and all that. Unc- Stefan's coach just told me to relax and enjoy, though. I don't know who to listen to.”
Pouting at the girl's trivialities, Nastya eagerly poked her head as a tease. Grinning as she adjusted her friend's bowtie, she assured her, “just relax, ok? We're not in some military parade, so just be yourself. I don't think your grandmother will blame you for indulging in festivities as long as you don't do anything silly. Oh, and don't forget your seed. Do you part for the environment~!”
Watching Nastya put a small bean on Anna's palm, the hapless girl could not help but stare at the seed. It seemed like a dull gimmick, putting a seed in the pod for planting in the Athlete's Garden just to make a point for environmentalism of some sort. Given the conditions of Rio, she hated to imagine the turnout many years down the road. Somehow, it seemed pointless to try. Even so, the thought did count did count, unable to dismiss such a gesture as meaningless. Whatever happens to it is outside her power, but neglecting to try was. Pocketing the seed, in her jacket, she could see the local usher calling the athletes out in Portuguese-accented English. Getting to her feet, she quietly dusted herself off as they prepared to assemble.
“Mh~! Let's go!”
Stadium Entrance, Maracanã Stadium
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
5 August, 2016, Brasília time
Marching through the gantry as the technicolour lights glittered in the distance, Anna felt a bit dwarfed by the festive mood. Wedged between the Portuguese and Kenyan teams, Prussia's fourty-odd athletes and handful of officials appeared halved in size compared to their adjacent contingents. Led on by the bicycle cart at the front, the contingent trudged forth as drummers in bright blue suits played away in the excitement behind. With a small Prussian flag on one hand and her phone in the other, the Koryo-saram could hear the cheers pouring ahead, reaching deafening levels as the Portuguese vanished into the exit.
“I don't recall the cheers being this loud before,” Anna mused, shielding her eyes from the blinding lights of the stadium.
“That's because they're the Portuguese,” a brunette teammate with shoulder-length hair answered, “good or bad, it's hard to deny the locals have an affinity to their past.”[1]
“But that means the cheers for us will be even softer by comparison, Elena,” complained.
Giggling at the dismay, the girl answered reassuringly, “you can't blame them, though. We're just one out of two hundred over teams competing. They have to save the most cheers for last.”
Stepping into the stadium as dancing volunteers in colourful, signboard costumes point the way down the road, the girls felt almost overwhelmed. Already, a good half of the entire parade were already there, cheering on each new arrival while snapping pictures of the festivities. Some gave their thumbs up at the posts where they deposited their seeds for planting. Others danced to the samba music welcoming the athletes and officials to the ceremony. On hindsight, Anna felt silly even worrying about how to act. This was Rio. And this was a celebration.
“Prusse. Prussia. Prússia,” went the announcers over the speakers, as Stefan led the contingent in with the waving tricolour. Waving to the cameras zeroes on them, the athletes eagerly waved as they huddled for pictures with their phones. Swimmers, shooters, gymnasts, runners... it was no secret that Prussia's Olympic legacy came directly from the USSR. Even those in the current team of coaches, some of whom represented Prussia for the first time in Barcelona in 1992, were the result of the Soviets' medal-winning sporting program.[2] But six Olympiads on and with the torch passed from the old Soviet Olympians, their efforts and victories will be entirely their own, and their young nation's.
This will be Prussia's seventh Olympiad; and Anna's first in Rio.
Journey to Rio
OOC Notes:
- Brazil was a Portuguese colony.
- The West Baltic Republic (Prussia), as did the other Baltic nations, did not join the Unified Team into the 1992 Barcelona Olympics.
Cast
- Prussian Olympic Swim Team
- Stefan Olegovich Pak/Pak Ho-Jin (CV: 山崎 宗介)
- Coach Oleg Yevgenevich Pak/Pak In-sik (CV: 葉月 渚)
- Prussian Olympic Gymnastics Team
- Anna Svetovidovna Pak/Pak Eun-jin (CV: 早倉 舞衣)
- Elena Dmitrievna Gurkovskaya (CV: 椎名 心実)
- Nastya Nestorovna Swischuk (CV: 佐々木 まき絵)
Maybe. I didn't take that into account. :V
Just out of curiosity, why did you ask? I can't help you if you're hoping for Hanamichi.
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Chapter 4-2 Preview
So... 8th page on my draft in and it's probably getting quite long. I guess I'll put the preview in for the moment.
National Museum, Kyonigsberg, Prussia
23 January, 2016
9.42 am
Stepping through the passage of the neo-classical architecture, Stanislaw appeared dazed, even unfocused, marvelling at the open décor as light sifted through the modernist glass roof. A contrast between the old and the new, the renovated museum provided a unusually pleasant balance and blend. A healthy flow of warm air and sunshine against the chilling cold outside, the methodical work put into bringing the museum back in operation – in time for the country's 20th anniversary in 2011 – was telling of the renovators' skills and commitment. Now, banners advertising the exhibits for Prussia's independence movement and referendum rejoice at the upcoming quarter-centennial. Given the context of their visit, the lad could not help but feel the need to take notes for the course.
“I'm going to need another notebook,” he mused, taking his exercise book from his bag. Frowning in dismay at his friend's studious attitude, Petr whined, “can you chill for once, Stan? We're not going to be studying the independence movement until like... March or April. No need to jump the gun.”
“Well, since we're already here, we might as well,” Stanislaw justified simply, “it might be useful for our second group project.”
“We have group projects,” Petr questioned ignorantly, a bit shocked at the news. Not surprisingly, the scowl on their female friend said it all, quite exasperated at Petr's relaxed attitue.”
“Yes, we do,” Paulina stated snidely, “in fact, we're getting our first assignment today, or are you going to tell me you forgot?”
“O-Of course not,” denied the Czech defensively, quite ticked off at her agitation, “we just don't know what the project is about. We don't want to waste our time with useless trivia, right?”
“I'm pretty sure it'd come in useful, Petr,” Stanislaw admitted honestly, much to his friend's dismay, “you never know.”
But before he could continue, a strange, orange coif caught his eye as the stream of St. Elisabeth schoolgirls began to flood the entrance. Standing out in a pick coat amidst a sea of black-uniformed St. Elisabeth students, the young girl checked in with her friends as they entered the gantry into the exhibition hall. Trying to tiptoe a bit as the noble-looking girl vanished along the line, Stanislaw felt the girl strangely familiar.
“Stan,” Petr questioned, glaring with him at the line of schoolgirls, “what are you doing? Girl caught your eye?”
“Ah,” the hapless lad absentmindedly answered, “I guess so.”
Scowling again, Paulina did not appear to approve. Hugging her bag, she stated, “funny tastes, if I do say so myself. Of all the people to go for, you go for a Teuton. Sometimes I wonder what goes through your mind.”
“'Teuton',” asked Petr in confusion, “what're you talking about?”
“St. Elisabeth Catholic Girls School,” Paulina clarified, pointing at the line of girls, “even though they're a sister school to St. Wotjech and set up by the Unified Catholic Council of Prussia, they're a German-language school funded and taking on the Teutonic Order as patrons.[1] Why else does their school coat of arms have a black cross?”
“I see,” blurted Petr in surprise, “I thought the Teutonic Knights were disbanded already.”
“They weren't,” Paulina affirmed grudgingly, “the only people that actually tried to ban them were the Nazis. They're a charitable organisation now, but you know... they're still the same order that fought in Grunwald.”
“That doesn't necessarily make them bad by default,” Stanislaw tried to explain, “I mean, it's six centuries already.”
Pouting a bit at the thought, the nationalistic Pole stated coldly, “well, six centuries on, Vitort (Vytautas) and Jogaila are rolling in their graves...[1] and we're all welcoming the restoration of its mortal enemy.”
Watching the girl pace to the counter to get their tickets, Stanislaw would not help but think she was overreacting. What on earth made her hate the Germans this much despite the disparity in years. Most Poles had long learnt to put that aside, especially after decades of German restitution and repentance for the Second World War.[2] That Paulina pined over a battle countless generation ago bordered on fanaticism. Sure, there was little issue remembering and celebrating the triumph of Poland-Lithuania over its mortal enemies, but there was no reason to bring the grudge to the modern day. Shaking his head, all he could do was follow. Taking out his wallet, he too prepared his card for his ticket.
“Oh ya, Stan,” Petr asked, opening his hand out, “can you lend me some money for the ticket?”
“Money,” Stanislaw questioned, looking up at the price list in front of the reception, “it's free. For all Prussian citizens. Just show the receptionist your student card.”
“Oh... about that...” the hapless lad cringed, scratching his head a bit. Sighing at Petr's lack of tact, Stanislaw simply said, “Transport pass works too. It's got your nationality on it.”[3]
It appeared Stanislaw would have to carry the papers on his own.
OOC Notes
National Museum, Kyonigsberg, Prussia
23 January, 2016
9.42 am
Stepping through the passage of the neo-classical architecture, Stanislaw appeared dazed, even unfocused, marvelling at the open décor as light sifted through the modernist glass roof. A contrast between the old and the new, the renovated museum provided a unusually pleasant balance and blend. A healthy flow of warm air and sunshine against the chilling cold outside, the methodical work put into bringing the museum back in operation – in time for the country's 20th anniversary in 2011 – was telling of the renovators' skills and commitment. Now, banners advertising the exhibits for Prussia's independence movement and referendum rejoice at the upcoming quarter-centennial. Given the context of their visit, the lad could not help but feel the need to take notes for the course.
“I'm going to need another notebook,” he mused, taking his exercise book from his bag. Frowning in dismay at his friend's studious attitude, Petr whined, “can you chill for once, Stan? We're not going to be studying the independence movement until like... March or April. No need to jump the gun.”
“Well, since we're already here, we might as well,” Stanislaw justified simply, “it might be useful for our second group project.”
“We have group projects,” Petr questioned ignorantly, a bit shocked at the news. Not surprisingly, the scowl on their female friend said it all, quite exasperated at Petr's relaxed attitue.”
“Yes, we do,” Paulina stated snidely, “in fact, we're getting our first assignment today, or are you going to tell me you forgot?”
“O-Of course not,” denied the Czech defensively, quite ticked off at her agitation, “we just don't know what the project is about. We don't want to waste our time with useless trivia, right?”
“I'm pretty sure it'd come in useful, Petr,” Stanislaw admitted honestly, much to his friend's dismay, “you never know.”
But before he could continue, a strange, orange coif caught his eye as the stream of St. Elisabeth schoolgirls began to flood the entrance. Standing out in a pick coat amidst a sea of black-uniformed St. Elisabeth students, the young girl checked in with her friends as they entered the gantry into the exhibition hall. Trying to tiptoe a bit as the noble-looking girl vanished along the line, Stanislaw felt the girl strangely familiar.
“Stan,” Petr questioned, glaring with him at the line of schoolgirls, “what are you doing? Girl caught your eye?”
“Ah,” the hapless lad absentmindedly answered, “I guess so.”
Scowling again, Paulina did not appear to approve. Hugging her bag, she stated, “funny tastes, if I do say so myself. Of all the people to go for, you go for a Teuton. Sometimes I wonder what goes through your mind.”
“'Teuton',” asked Petr in confusion, “what're you talking about?”
“St. Elisabeth Catholic Girls School,” Paulina clarified, pointing at the line of girls, “even though they're a sister school to St. Wotjech and set up by the Unified Catholic Council of Prussia, they're a German-language school funded and taking on the Teutonic Order as patrons.[1] Why else does their school coat of arms have a black cross?”
“I see,” blurted Petr in surprise, “I thought the Teutonic Knights were disbanded already.”
“They weren't,” Paulina affirmed grudgingly, “the only people that actually tried to ban them were the Nazis. They're a charitable organisation now, but you know... they're still the same order that fought in Grunwald.”
“That doesn't necessarily make them bad by default,” Stanislaw tried to explain, “I mean, it's six centuries already.”
Pouting a bit at the thought, the nationalistic Pole stated coldly, “well, six centuries on, Vitort (Vytautas) and Jogaila are rolling in their graves...[1] and we're all welcoming the restoration of its mortal enemy.”
Watching the girl pace to the counter to get their tickets, Stanislaw would not help but think she was overreacting. What on earth made her hate the Germans this much despite the disparity in years. Most Poles had long learnt to put that aside, especially after decades of German restitution and repentance for the Second World War.[2] That Paulina pined over a battle countless generation ago bordered on fanaticism. Sure, there was little issue remembering and celebrating the triumph of Poland-Lithuania over its mortal enemies, but there was no reason to bring the grudge to the modern day. Shaking his head, all he could do was follow. Taking out his wallet, he too prepared his card for his ticket.
“Oh ya, Stan,” Petr asked, opening his hand out, “can you lend me some money for the ticket?”
“Money,” Stanislaw questioned, looking up at the price list in front of the reception, “it's free. For all Prussian citizens. Just show the receptionist your student card.”
“Oh... about that...” the hapless lad cringed, scratching his head a bit. Sighing at Petr's lack of tact, Stanislaw simply said, “Transport pass works too. It's got your nationality on it.”[3]
It appeared Stanislaw would have to carry the papers on his own.
- Polish-Lithuanian leaders in the Battle of Grunwald
- Ostpolitik
- Electronic passes for public transportation. Basically an adaptation of Singapore's ez-link pass system.
- Students
- St Wojciech (Adalbert) of Prague Catholic High School
- Stanisław Andrzejewski (CV: バナージ・リンクス)
- Paulina Krakowska (CV: ミコット・バーチ)
- Petr Nováček (CV: タクヤ・イレイ)
- St. Elisabeth of Thuringia Catholic Girls School
- ????? ??????????? (CV:
ミネバ・ラオ・ザビオードリー・バーン)
- ????? ??????????? (CV:
- St Wojciech (Adalbert) of Prague Catholic High School
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Hmm... No, I don't think so. He probably died the same way he did OTL, in a car accident.
Then again, with the butterflies, he might be in an entirely different place at the time of death and had an uneventful day. I'll have to look up more. You might have something there.
Holy shit.
How have I not found this?
Subscribed. Excellent. (Add Liechtenstein. Do it. You know you want to.)
How have I not found this?
Subscribed. Excellent. (Add Liechtenstein. Do it. You know you want to.)
- Status