NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: I came up with this RP idea for one shots about NS characters and their nations. It is free for anyone to post about what their characters do.

IC: An day in the life of a terrorist leader

Isla del Cobra, somewhere in the Indian Ocean.

7:00 AM

"Bloodly papers!" Princess Jade said, "I hate berucrats." It was another day on the base of Cobra Moon, the International terror organization bent on world conquest.

The Dark Princess of The Cobra Moon and her bodyguard, Sakura Sora were talking about the payment for the troops. "The Troops want their money soon," Sakura said, "or they will go on stirke." "Who was the baka who gave them the right to unionize?" Jade said, forgeting that she let them unionize. "I am going to the dinning hall." Jade said.

7:10 AM

Jade was in the very large dinning hall, eating a plum pie, she stuck in her thumb and pulled out...............Osama bin Laden's body. "Take this body out of here." She told the two Vipers, Bob and Rob. "Oy, next time, put Jimmy Huffa in the pie."

8:20 AM

Jade's Generals and Commanders were still argueing about targets for future attacks. "I say we attack London!" "No! New York is better!" "&(%(# you, lets blast Paris!" Jade then soon grabed her machine gun and fired at the commanders, they were all killed.

"Ah, peaceful." she said, as she walked past the dead bodies.

10:40 AM

"I got it!" Jade said to Sakura, the ninja anthropomorphic wolf just looked at Jade. "I will build a Laser gun and destroy WALAWALA!" Sakura soon came up to Jade "why destroy WalaWala, Washingion?" she asked, "Because it sounds stupid." Jade said.

2:30 PM

Rob and Bob were watching the sope opera that was like sand in your swimsuit. The Days of our Nights. "I don't get it." Rob said, "all they do on this show is F***" "I know Rob," Bob said, "This F***ing show does not make sense." "It is F***ing stupid." Rob said as the 'All Powerful leader' came by "Will you two stop watching those F**ing soaps before I &*%&%^^%&*$^$ your @$$ and *^&%^&$$%Y%$^$%(%^$* you to #&!!" she said. she soon walked to the main hall.

"*^%$&^#$ you &^$%*" Rob said.

2:59 PM

"Behold!" Jade yelled to her army, "the doom of that stupid town in the Northestern US!" she soon pulled sthe sheat off the laser weapon and showed it to everyone.

a Crieket churped.

"Now to Destroy WalaWala!" Jade said, fireing The laser.................

North Pole

Santa and all his elves were busy makeing toys for all the kids around the world when the laser hit and killed them all

back on Isla del Cobra

"Princess! a Horde of kids are attacking!" a Viper just as the kids attacked and started beating up the Cobra Moon Army

4:00 PM

"YOU LITTLE BRATS! I WILL KILL YOU!" Jade said from her Padded cell in Area 51

The End.

Story: A hard of the Vizithkanju

Suriga sighed, looking at the papers before he stretched slightly, looking around before he raised his head up in distinct amusement. "I need help. I'll write a novel. Though, I'll need idea help from the others." Suriga pondered, his eyes darting off in different directions before Miriana sat down beside him.

"How about asking ideas from the Menekrungo?" Miriana said, as Suriga nodded appreciatively. "I'm sure they'll have some interesting ideas." For the test, the was entailed in simple terms; What would be a masterpiece of a plot?

And here unto were the results:

Karakorun Mengiko says...
"A novel where the protagonist or the protagonists begin to face off against multiple foes that eventually revert back to the good side, but end up betraying them because they were controlled by an even more dangerous person."

Sekai Hamruun says...
"The protagonist is a filthy rich nobility who goes around liberating businesses from the clutches of their dastardly shop owners whom have no knowledge of basic economics. The plot twists when he meets a commoner who knows equal experience in finance as he, but the ordered execution of said commoner fixes the problem."

Ishidun Geriuusk says...
"A story where the noble Jagites fight off all the evil Kraven forces in a heavenly battle. Or something along those lines."

Mekumunos Haruim says...
"This is pointless."

Gengur Ushuimaru says...
"A heartbreaking story where a guy falls in love with a girl, but finds out its actually an extremely feminine guy, but he still loves that guy anyways because it is the power of love."

Maiko Vijun says...
"Why don't you just do any autobiography?"

Suriga eventually picked Sekai Hamruun's idea, though reasons to this day remains unknown.

OOC: Interesting Idea....

IC:

In the life of President Arnold, in the White House, San Diego...

8:50AM

President Jack Arnold walk's into the office, and as he sit's at his oval table and start's up his Mac Pro, he look's at the medal's on the wall, 2 Medal of Honor's from the government, 2 Navy Cross's, and 4 Silver Stars, and he looked at a bullet fragment that said "This was the culprit bullet, that was nearly fatal to Adm.Arnold", and it made him realize how fragile life is.


9:30AM
He review's the paper's, mostly communication's from the USSW, and he nod's and read's them, it pre-occupying him, when a breakfast tray enter's, and he absent mindily say's, "Thanks."

10:15 AM
He see's the General of the Air Force walk , who say's "Sir, your son is now an instructor flying the F-9T's, he's checking the instructor's out in SaintB, on the the aircraft, he is a full Col. now." President Arnold smiled and said "That's my boy!, he's shot down, He's had a full career, how many rebel aircraft now?" the General of the Air Force, General Antonov, say's, smiling "He's shot down a IL-62N, containing fleeing Black Eagle leadership, but we won't reveal that, and also, a hijacked C-141, that contained the Baa'thist leadership. He shot down 4 Mig-23 Flogger's from the 1st revolt, and shot down 2 Su-15's from the Black Eagle's. He shot down also, 1 Baa'thist Mig-29 over the captial, he's at 10 sir, counting that one Baa'thist C-130J."

11:30-5:30 PM

President Arnold is in a conference discussing world politic's, the upcoming Calizorinstani Air Show in Miramar, the arragement's, and his daughter Jenny's wedding, and the upcoming Tolvan fleet week..

5:30 PM
He goes to bed, and will wake at 7:00 the next morning..

Bump

((OOC: Maybe later... I sunno. The charcter Benard is kind of deadpan and serious until people get to know him... he's a got a dry sense of humor))

Tag for later.

OOC: just a note, you can post funny or normal posts.

Edit: Cobra Moon TGed me to tell you, he is a bit busy so he told me to post that.

Dzevat Melmedelija's Normal Day:

Dzevat is a member of the ZVO's Atopian Section - he is, for wont of a more politically correct term, a secret policeman. He is tasked with ensuring the security of the Imperial Province of Atopiana from internal security threats that cannot be handled by the policemen of the OOG or the paramilitary gendarmerie of the Imperial Judiciary.

It is 08:22. He is, at the moment, twenty-two minutes late for work...

"Fuck," roared Melmedelija as he opened his eyes to the dark screen of his alarm-radio, "what's the time? I'm late for work, damn, damn, damn."

Leaping out of bed, he stands on his discarded clothes and hears a distinctive crunch as his palmtop shatters under his 14-stone weight.

"Shitfuck."

Moaning and cursing, he staggers to the bathroom, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, where he turns on the tap. The ensuing trickle of freezing water shakes him awake as he splashes it on his face, and, gasping, he dries his face. His bathroom is shared, and a slightly off-grey yellow in colour. It is, like most of the rest of Megalopolis Primary, 'temporary'. Unlike his superiors he does not live in the Palace of Progress, the ultra-modern centre of the new Atopiana unveiled years before with much fanfare by the Governor-General herself.

Stumbling back into his own room, he picks his one and only suit up from the floor where it has fallen in the night, and shrugs it on. Draining the remnants of his glass of slivodj - including the dust that has settled on it overnight - he gargles with the rough spirit for a moment while he slips on his shoes and then sighs.

Another day at work lies ahead, and it will - like almost every other day at the Palace of Progress - be an endless series of meetings, briefings, and analytical sifting through typewritten notes, voice recordings, and film captures of suspected enemies of the state.

His route to work is short; he simply walks down the stairs (ignoring the broken lifts) and stands by the main door for the local tram. It is, as usual, cold, grey, and damp. The ecological damage wrought by the One-Day War brought disaster but, as many believe, a great future as well.

Melmedelija is not one of those. In his middle age, he has few job prospects; his career in the ZVO is stagnant without a 'big bust' to make his name. For Dzevat, with an alcoholic boss and a nervous wreck for a partner, he has long resigned himself to processing other, younger, more thrusting officers' arrests.

Sometimes, he grins, to himself, as the tram grumbles quietly towards the Palace, sometimes it's worthwhile. The interrogations, for instance, and the feeling of power that floods through his tired veins as he watches people's defiance crumble under a relentless assault.

Today, however, was not one of those days. No, today was a day of paperwork: three students had been arrested by the OOG last week, and they had turned out to be involved in printing the underground freesheet Свобода! Вольность! (Freedom! Liberty!) which, it transpired, had had Section 56 running round in circles for months. Typically, the students had been arrested for something entirely different - use of illegal drugs, or something. At any rate, it was Melmedelija and his partner's job to sift the papers for "incriminating evidence" whilst the thrusting youths of '56 questioned the students.

Boring, thought Dzevat as he swung off the tram and walked, shoulders hunched against the rain, into the Palace, fucking boring drudgery. Day in, day out...

"You're late, Dzevat," grins the uniformed ZVO man at the main entrance, "Horthy will be pleased."
"Fuck off," Melmedelija replies, entirely tonelessly, uninterestedly.

Laughter rings in his ears as he flashes his security card at the reader; bending automatically to allow the retinal scanner to do its work. Satisfied, the tiny brain of the entrance opens the doors for him.

It is 09:05, and Melmedelija has just clocked on - an hour and five minutes late. This isn't a problem, the state is the main employer in Atopiana and it takes a lot more than lateness for the bureaucracy that runs the Megalopolis to sack a worker - particularly one who is a member of the ZVO - principally because the province is still a seller's market following the depopulation of the nation in the One-Day War.

As he steps onto the moving walkway that will take him the three-quarters of a mile to his section's office, he adjusts his clip-on tie and digs the shattered remnants of his palmtop out of his pocket.

"Piss," he groans, as he surveys the extent of the damage, "another claims form... just what I didn't want."
"Talking to yourself," pipes up a reedy voice from behind him, "is bad for you, Melm. Why are you late?"
"Oh. Hullo Jevic, what're you doing this far out from the pen?"

Jevic is his partner. A thin, scrawny woman in her late 30s, she had previously been part of the Atopian military's intelligence corps. It was her involvement in the wars that led up to the Axis Novan attack that had given her serious problems - and her survival that had forced her back into service without any real help. She is nervous, prone to hysteria, and has flashbacks; all of which make her something of an ... interesting colleague, in Melmedelija's considered opininon. Unlike their boss, at least, she hasn't turned to drink to cope.

Or drugs, like many more; or suicide, like even more.

"Heh, I needed to go to the files, Melm, and spotted you as I was coming out."
"Fair enough. How's the boss?"
"Out of it. He came in ten minutes ago, told me to get cracking, and then vanished into his office. Not come out since."
"Typical. Have a good night last night?"
"So-so."
"At least an improvement on the weekend, right?"
"Yeh, I suppose, but still... it's not fun, Melm, I still don't know how you cope."
"Apathy, being a cynical bastard, and resignation. Coupled with a will to live which baffles me frankly."
"Hahaha!"

So, as they chat, the walkway takes them past hundreds of doors, each of which leads off onto rooms of varying sizes and complexity. From guardrooms to offices, from canteens to cells, the building spans a mile of ground and is built with expansion in mind. In theory, and the plans, it can house ten thousand people and millions upon millions of books, papers, and other files.

At the moment, under four hundred people - including the prisoners - rattle around in its vast, cavernous spaces. ZVO headquarters is not even a tenth of the Palace of Progress, either. Instead it is a mere outcropping of the huge structure, hidden by weak foliage and high walls.

By half past nine, the two are sitting at their desks, sharing a packet of cigarettes as they begin to read the back issues of Freedom! Liberty!

Both are impressed with the quality of the paper and the insightful commentry, and, as they read on, even more amazed at the ineptitude of S56.

"They put their fucking names to the articles, Jevic. Their names, and the incompetant fuckers couldn't find them?!"
"Well, the records are pretty bad..."
"Fuck the records, there's the phonebook."
"Hehehe. There is that. Oooh, have you read the article on page five of issue two?"
"No, what's it about?"
"It's declaring the Judges an, eh, 'unacceptable imposition upon freethinking peoples' and their right to self-determination'."
"Haha! Quite right too! There's an amusing cartoon in issue ten, I think, it's taking the piss out of the Palace."

And so they pass the time, making notes and sipping black ersatz coffee until, around lunchtime, their boss stirs...

The Hanyo and The Hog Dogs.

Fort Kaliban, Northern Kemonomimi.

General Sei Borbani was busy with his troops, training them to be top soldiers. The Anthropomorphic Wolf watched the hanyos doing push ups...............all but one.

Privte Ming Ling was holding something odd in her hand, a Pack of hot dogs. "Ming," Sei said, "What are you doing!?!"

Ming was half Human, half panda demon, she Joined the army to get away from being beaten up, kicked at, raped and mistreated by The Yokais in the capital (the fact was she joined to get away from her mom and dad, who were hippies, and she was still a virgin).

"Uh, nothing sir." Ming said. "Then why are you holding a pack of what they call 'hot dogs'?" Sei said, looking at the hot dogs. "I am trying to open them." Ming said, pulling out a combat knive and tried stabbing at it, it was not working. "*&&%*% hot dogs."

in the barricks, Ming was soon pointing her flint-lock gun at the pack of hot dogs, she shot at it, and the ballshot bounced of them. "Damn" Ming said.

Outside, Ming grabed a battle axe and tried choping them open, the axe broke.

Ming soon took a sitck of Dynomite and put it on the hotdogs and set it off

KABOOM!

"MING!" Sargent Pentaka said, yelling at Ming.

all the while The pack of hot dogs was now in orbit around the earth.

The end

A day in the life of an Imperial Judge

7:30 am: Although justice never sleeps, sometimes Judges need to. Judge Forboding awakens to the sound of his radio alarm clock playing every Imperial citizen's favourite morning radio show, "Wolf Pack AM".
"It's another glorious day in the Empire of the Wolf!" beams the announcer, and although Judge Forboding has his head buried underneath his pillow, the irritating sound of the man's extroverted happiness burrows into his ears.
"Arise and do Homage! Long live the Wolf!" the announcer cries, before Forboding bashes the alarm clock to the floor in his routine manner.
“Drokk, my head!” He grumbled, nursing his very sore forehead and feeling the rather tender bruise that the previous night’s action had left there. Forboding, or JF as he was known to his associates, had now come to the conclusion that headbutting through a car window was never a good idea, even when wearing a composite armour helmet. He picked up his helmet that was lying on the floor next to the bed and inspected it.
Not a damn scractch he grinned, examining the helmet. It covered the top, back and sides of his head as well as down to his mouth on his face and was bright red in colour with a black trim. Putting the helmet back on the floor, he then stood up and put on the undersuit, cursing loudly as his leg got stuck in the undersuit and he lost his balance, toppling over and hitting his head against the wall.

JF came to roughly an hour later, his head hurting even more. Despite the disorientation and the agonizing pain, he put on his armour and picked up his sidearm, then exited his apartment. He dreaded the 73 floor elevator ride down to city level, but such was the price for living in the Capital. The ride was mercifully swift, not that it really mattered as a Judge had no starting hours or office to get to: Judges are always on duty, they only turn up to police stations when bringing in criminals or they feel the need to work with local police. Some Judges prefered to co-operate with the police, but not JF. He viewed himself as the embodiement of everything the Judges stood for – a solitary figure, the ultimate Arbitrator who answers to no-one.

Waving a greeting to the doorman, JF stepped out onto the busy street. Skgorria City was alive with activity, as it always was, and both life and activity meant crime for JF. He unlocked his motorcycle from the magclamps on the side of the building, just in time for he heard a voice over his radio.
“ Food riot in progress, 734 Imperial Way, all units respond.” A cacophony of groans and acknowledgements were heard from various police units before JF transmitted.
“Be grateful, for today we bring justice! Judge Forboding en route. How many and are they armed?”
“ Roughly fifty, various blunt and improvised weapons. No clearance to use NBC munitions for police units…obviously you can do whatever the hell you want, sir. You seem to be the closest judging by your transmission location so you can handle it. I’m sure you’ll do well sir.” JF swore he could detect a trace of sarcasm from the despatch officer, but he ignored it and started his cycle, quickly typing in the adress on his navsys to find a route.

At 734 Imperial Way, sure enough there was a crowd of fifty people armed with improvised weapons, but JF was confused in that they did not appear to be rioting. Instead, they were standing angrily and arguing very loudly with a food distribution officer who was accompanied by two rather nervous-looking soldiers who were guarding a crashed food truck. The citizens were so intent on arguing with the officer that they did not notice JF’s approach at first.
“All we want is some damned food!” An angry old man snarled, waving his cane menacingly. “Our rations have been cut again to feed the damned Atopians and what do we get? Nothing!”
“Sir,” pleaded the officer, “calm down. This is for the good of the Empire…”
“And what about for us, eh? Is it for the good of Skgorria?” The old man received a few cheers from the crowd for his words, and he turned back to his supporters and grinned. “We were better off under the damned Nazis!”
“That’s dissent citizen!” bellowed JF, grabbing the attention of everyone present and marching towards the old man. “How do you plead?”
“Oh what are you going to do?” the man snorted, “arrest me?” The old man grinned before JF smacked him in the mouth with his armoured fist.
“Under the Judge Act of 2392, I have dispensed justice as I see fit,” JF recited, the words by now an old routine to him that had to be said every time he acted as a Judge. “Do you wish to bring back the Nazis and their brutality? Their racism and their oppression? The God-Wolf has brought us peace and democracy, and any hardship we go through is for our allies. Is that not correct?”
“Aye!” spoke up the food distribution officer, “this truck was on the way to an Atopian refugee camp. They haven’t eaten in two days.”
“Be ashamed of yourselves!” JF called out to the crowd, some of whom were trying to slip away. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.” He then nudged the bleeding man with his boot, who groaned a little.
"Go home old man, you've pissed off enough people for today."

JF sighed, it wasn’t even 10am

The creaking of the door to the boss's office is the first sign of life from that direction since Jevic watched Milatov stagger in several hours earlier.

Without looking up, Melmedelija and Jevic chorus a "good afternoon boss" that is met with a tired grunt. More than anyone, Milatov exemplifies the shattered nature of the modern Atopian - tired, semi-drunk, and listless. Long gone is the sunny cafe culture of the days of the Fascist Union, and it has been over two hundred years since the glorious days of the anarchists. Atopiana is a ruined hulk, her people rattling around in a city that is mostly slum and anyway designed for billions rather than millions. The pride that once carried Atopian soldiers to war on the backs of cheering citizens is long gone, and few believe it will ever return.

Milatov, like so many hundreds of thousands, seeks solace in alcohol. His superiors know he is useless, but cannot dispense with him because - as always - there is no-one else that can do the job. Today, as usual, his lunchtime ritual takes just minutes.

Bleary-eyed and dishevelled, he crosses to the water cooler, and takes a paper cup from its dispenser. With one swift movement, he empties it over his head, and, with a grunting sigh like an old dog, rubs his face with his other hand.

"Ack, that's better," he mumbles, as Melmedelija rolls his eyes at Jevic, who smiles, "now... how's the work?"
"It's going fine, boss," says Dzevat, "how's the head?"
"Hmph. It's better than it was. Some slivodj that was, I'm sure that Yuri's still is using petrochemicals. Right. I'm going home to sleep this off; tell the chief that if he needs me he can reach me there."
"Right-ho, boss."

As the door bangs behind Milatov, Jevic grins at Dzevat, and says, "D'you think he's going home, or to the Action?"

The Action, or Flash of Action to give it its full name, is a pub with attached brothel; and it is where Milatov spends most of his time. Like most businesses, it, too, is run by the state, and in theory at least members of the state security apparatus who are on duty will be turned away if they do not have a warrant.

In reality, if your workscrip is good, you're in.

"I dunno. He looks chipper than he did last time he went there, so probably is, to be honest. Shall we go and grab something to eat?"
"Why not. Canteen or the restaurant?"
"Don't care," Melmedelija says, "so long as they do food. Real food, that is, I don't mean that hideous slop the street canteens do."
"Hah. So you're thinking of defecting then?"
"Hahaha! For better food? Fuck yes. Let's go to the restaurant, it's closer, and if you don't look at the food you can pretend it's a decade ago..."