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23 December 2009 @ 04:37 am
Opening Moves [Making Militant Memories]  


Location:
Royal Guard Training Facility; London, England
Characters: Levaios Adeleston; Xiang Riccio
Purpose: The first meeting of the two characters; Levaios gets nostalgic and his sudden appearance causes a little disorder at the military camp.

          The military didn’t take kindly to Crown Prince Adeleston’s sudden, unexpected, and often undocumented visits on random occasions. It was all fine and dandy for His Royal Highness to support the troops publicly—it made both parties look better on an international scale.

What was not “peachy” with the commanders on-site was the commotion the young man made every time he showed up. It was always a thousand times worse when it was unannounced, and after scraping together accommodations for him they were always given grief by Prince Levaios’ personal assistants. It wasn’t like the boy needed better security—he was hardly thirty miles from the palace, and he was on base. The kid had a solid year of military experience himself, and sure as heck he was trained in using a gun.

And yet, there was always a guard trying to trail him. Why?

Because he was a Prince, and that’s the way things were.

But Levaios was a bit tricky. He was just as skillful as his security team, and whenever he was able to slip by them he did. It wasn’t the team’s fault— Levaios liked just about all of his assigned staff. It was just that they were so uptight about their jobs. The Prince preferred a more lax, natural approach.

His philosophy reinforced the reason for his behavior. He was the sort of man who would take the more roundabout route simply to stretch his legs. Levaios stopped often too, to admire a painting, say hello to someone, or merely observe what was going on. The Prince would notice little things as his mind wandered, a feather caught up in the wind. Floating through life with a positive attitude, that was how he handled it.

But hardly was Prince Levaios lazy. The Prince was well-known for his firm work ethic and tenacity when it came to things dear to him. He always looked sharp, never leaving his room in anything less than a collared shirt and dress pants. Waistcoats and suits were commonplace for him, but he’d have dressed the same way even if he hadn’t been born to a royal family. The red curls he’d been born with were always combed through, albeit sometimes quickly. Look sharp, think sharp, be sharp— Six simple words that just about summed Levaios’ style of living.

The boy—barely a man, for his 18th birthday had just passed— stood at six-foot-two. His height, as well as his broad and rather muscled-shoulders, made him feel like he was often overpowering other people. But his boisterous laugh, large goofy grin and the way his green eyes sparkled put everyone at ease. Powerful yet gentle, that was the way Prince Levaios Adeleston was meant to be.

He’d never meant to cause trouble by visiting the training camp, but... he just couldn’t help it. Nostalgia, something that often plagued the Prince, often caused him to meander around the problems of modern day until he could refocus. That was the reason he stood at the training facility now, softly telling the stories of his days there to himself as he passed through. Paint peeled, boards creaked, things were streaked in dust and dirt— and yet he loved it all.

Wow, it looks so much older, but it’s only been a few months since I left this place, Levaios thought.

He had been granted immunity from certain aspects of training, because the commanders just couldn’t put their future leader in any extreme peril. Levaios felt like they were giving him special treatment—he had come to discover what it truly meant to be “equal”. And many times, he’d felt it. I wonder who is still here...

There were soldiers milling about, and Levaios couldn’t help but notice them as he made his way between two of the buildings. Seeing the men (and a handful of women) in the same uniforms he wore, doing all of the same things he did... a grin crept onto the Prince’s face. He was surprised that no one had seen him yet, but that also made him cheerful. His Majesty liked surprises.

Things got frantic whenever he showed up, everyone bursting into panic. Maybe, just maybe, there won’t be pandemonium this time. This is just a good surprise!

Optimism was a strong point of Levaios’, but that didn’t mean realism always was.


 
 
Current Mood: nostalgicnostalgic
 
 
 
lt_useless on January 8th, 2010 10:46 pm (UTC)
Opening Moves [Making Militant Memories II]
Xiang Riccio was not a particularly slovenly or lazy man by nature, so when he awoke to find his bedroom in disarray and his holoclock showing the time as two hours past his normal waking time, he was rather confused. His confusion lifted as he stumbled into the bathroom and discovered several empty bottles of cheap vodka, strewn on the floor amongst bubble-gum-flavoured toothpaste and cleaning supplies. "That explains it," he groaned, feeling the hangover descend on him like an angry, obese cat clawing at his skull. Unfortunately, the feeling actually was an angry obese cat clawing at his skull; Murphy had evidentally sought refuge on the shower-curtain pole from Xiang's drunken 'wrath', and, as he was wont to do, deigned to show his displeasure with his claws. The real hangover proved to be much more agonizing. Bypassing his normal cleanliness routine, Xiang snatched a crumpled uniform from his desk chair, pulling it on as he jammed on his shoes and gargled with what he feverently hoped was not detergent. He spat the potential-detergent out the window, ignoring the resulting stream of curses from the balcony below, and checked his breath; erring on the side of caution (since being fired for drunken incompetence was hardly on his to-do list), he grabbed a small tin of mints and left.

On the maglev over, Xiang scrutinized his reflection in one of the mirrors mounted on the walls. Sure, I grabbed my one uniform that's practically made of patches, I smell like a distillery, and my beard makes me look like I sleep under a bridge, but it could be worse; at least no-one's tried to give me spare change. Right after that thought cycled through his brain, a woman in a repugnantly puce pantsuit nudged her daughter, who skipped over to Xiang and pressed a fistful of grimy bills and coins into his palm. As she trotted back to her mother proudly, Xiang pressed his forehead into the support bar he was clutching and felt his hangover increase tenfold. At least I can afford the fare now.

By the time he got to the base, Xiang was positive that the gods were all against him, and were in fact teaming up to insure his maximum level of misery. He had been bodily thrown off of the train six stops early (the pantsuited woman's 'donation' had been short of fare), chased twenty blocks by a large, angrily barking dog, and shouted at by an elderly woman for disturbing the peace. During the dog incident, Xiang's uniform sleeve had actually been ripped off, fragile as its worn seams were, so he had the added worry of being penalized for inappropriate attire. All in all, it was clearly shaping up to be a rather hellish day. And it's only 8:30.

Xiang's nerves were steadily fraying as he raced from building to building, trying to collect all of the materials he needed; there were three meetings he needed to go to that day, and the first was twenty minutes in. With his frantic mental calculations, added onto the stress he had already suffered, it would be entirely reasonable to believe his heart stopped dead when he collided with someone, dropping the tactical charts in his arms on the slightly muddy ground. In fact, it ws surprising that it ever restarted when he looked up and found he'd run into Crown Prince Adeleston. Oh hell.
guardianingrey on January 19th, 2010 04:41 pm (UTC)
Opening Moves [Making Militant Memories III]
“Oh Lord, I’m sorry!”

In a way, Levaios was on the tail end of his own sort of hangover. Blindly he blurted out his apology, bending down to help the poor fellow he’d nearly bowled over.

This had been happening more and more frequently over the past few months—the Prince would slip into a realm of nostalgia, and then slowly fall back into the subtle sea of reality. The reality that he was an adult now, the reality that people expected him to handle more responsibility, the reality that as soon as his father retired he’d be the leader of not only a country but a world power.

Eighteen was a number. Numbers, to Prince Levaios, proved nothing to himself about his confidence and ability as a leader. A legal adult and the head of legal affairs for a nation were two very different things.

Levaios had not completely discovered that this wandering, this “living in the past”, was currently his primary method of coping. Lots of high-stakes issues had been plaguing him lately, and without someone really close to confide in, he was having problems. Seventeen... summer here, at this camp, was nothing compared to what he was going through now.

Once he’d finished helping Xiang collect up the scattered papers, Levaios finally felt the whiplash. What... what the heck am I doing here again? It was like the tide receding. Levaios stared blankly at the charts for a moment, trying to reason with himself about his purpose for coming back.

... Kisho. She was his most reliable source for these sorts of things. I... haven’t spoken to her in years. But maybe... maybe she’d be able to make some sense of me.

Levaios noticed he’d sort of spaced out, leaving the rather battered man before him in an awkward silence. “Again, I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit of a space case today. I’d be happy to help you clean the mud off those, or at least aid you in transporting them.”

The Prince gave the soldier an honest smile, glad that his wandering mind was now occupied by a real-life distraction. “And, good sir, I do not believe I caught your name?”