Phoria
07-12-2004, 02:07
OOC: I am Witzgall, my nation was deleted so I am having a puppet take it over. This is the story...
The Fuhrer of Witzgall, Rupert Pusch, sat at the maplewood table, across from the Phorian Czar, Vladimir Polesz III. He looked at the Czar with much suspicion, as this had been the first time they had met alone in the past decade.
Rupert lifted his glass of wine. Still keeping his eyes on the Czar and the doors that stood behind Vladimir, he took a small sip.
The doors opened, revealing a waitor and the Fuhrer's butler, Christopher.
"Good afternoon, Czar Polesz and Mister." said Christopher as he excused the waitor.
"Good afternoon, Christopher." Rupert replied, acknowledging his well-known nickname of 'Mister'.
The Fuhrer took another sip of his wine, as he ordered a steak from his butler. The Czar waved off any order of food, and Christopher left the two politicians to their work.
"So, Vladimir Polesz...long time no see. What has been keeping you?" asks the Fuhrer as he watches his butler leave.
The Czar does not respond, and just sits there, staring at his political enemy.
"Nothing has been keeping me." replies Polesz.
"Then why have you not..." the Fuhrer begins.
Rupert Pusch passes out. He falls, hitting his head on the table, and then collapses out of his chair and ends up lying on his 15th century Persian carpet. Blood pours from his mouth slowly. He is dead.
Vladimir stands from his chair and approaches the dead body of the Fuhrer. He checks his pulse, but their is none to be checked.
"As always, they deliver." says the Czar.
He walks out of the room, attempting to act hysterical, and alerts the guards that the Fuhrer has collapsed and has no pulse. The four guards outside of the dining room rush in, and call for a military ambulence.
The Fuhrer of Witzgall, Rupert Pusch, sat at the maplewood table, across from the Phorian Czar, Vladimir Polesz III. He looked at the Czar with much suspicion, as this had been the first time they had met alone in the past decade.
Rupert lifted his glass of wine. Still keeping his eyes on the Czar and the doors that stood behind Vladimir, he took a small sip.
The doors opened, revealing a waitor and the Fuhrer's butler, Christopher.
"Good afternoon, Czar Polesz and Mister." said Christopher as he excused the waitor.
"Good afternoon, Christopher." Rupert replied, acknowledging his well-known nickname of 'Mister'.
The Fuhrer took another sip of his wine, as he ordered a steak from his butler. The Czar waved off any order of food, and Christopher left the two politicians to their work.
"So, Vladimir Polesz...long time no see. What has been keeping you?" asks the Fuhrer as he watches his butler leave.
The Czar does not respond, and just sits there, staring at his political enemy.
"Nothing has been keeping me." replies Polesz.
"Then why have you not..." the Fuhrer begins.
Rupert Pusch passes out. He falls, hitting his head on the table, and then collapses out of his chair and ends up lying on his 15th century Persian carpet. Blood pours from his mouth slowly. He is dead.
Vladimir stands from his chair and approaches the dead body of the Fuhrer. He checks his pulse, but their is none to be checked.
"As always, they deliver." says the Czar.
He walks out of the room, attempting to act hysterical, and alerts the guards that the Fuhrer has collapsed and has no pulse. The four guards outside of the dining room rush in, and call for a military ambulence.