[h2]Verveaux, Ventian Capital[/h2] T'was winter, snow fell lazily on the grounds of the royal palace, a thin powder that betrayed the coming of short days and long nights. The capital was quiet, the weekend had taken hold and everyone was indoors, spending time with their families, so was the Tsar. The west wing of the palace is considered the private quarters of the royal family, only a select few are allowed in, trusted servants, guards who had proven themselves to be loyal to the throne and visiting guests whom the sovereign trusts enough. It is also the smallest wing but by no means does that mean it is small, The wing has one hundred rooms, of which eighty are guest rooms and ten chapels, the remainder being two great halls and seven living rooms, the final a massive library and the sovereign's personal study. The living room was warmed by the crackling embers of a blazing hearth, the amber light dancing on the gold painted ceiling and refracting splendidly through crystal chandeliers. The furniture was heavy and substantial but still comfortable and cosy, made of solid oak and smooth, soft-to-touch silk. The living room in question was known amongst the palace staff as the sanctum, as it was the farthest living room and the one most frequented by the royals, for its comfort and decadence, as well as relative security. The Tsar was sprawled out on a chaise-lounge, his thick black hair in disarray and his formal clothes cast into a corner so he was just in a linen undershirt and his underdrawers. He lay behind his wife, the pair cramping themselves on the seat that was only meant for one to rest on. The Tsarina was resting her head against her husband's chest and was reading a book, flipping the pages ever so gently and murmuring softly to herself the words from the page. "Chto eto govorit, dorogaya? [sup][1][/sup]" she asked, pointing at word in her book. The Tsarina had difficulties reading Ventian, she came from a northern tribe where they spoke and read a different language all together. She had never taken the time to learn to read Ventian, she never realized that she might marry a king though. Voltus kissed the base of her neck, gently and she broke into a fit of blushing and giggling, before she smacked his shoulder lightly, "davay, chto on govorit? [sup][2][/sup]" The Tsar smirked and leaned in over her head so he could read the word she pointed out, his smirk turned into a smile. "Quintessential," he said with ease, much to his wife's bewilderment, "If you want to get better at Ventian, endeavor to speak it as much as you read it, only a handful know some of the northern languages and it's safe to assume that even less can speak Tzan [sup][3][/sup]." Marie frowned. "You know... my speaking isn't best." she replied meekly and it was true, she had a heavy northern accentuate made her speak from the back of her mouth, making her have to form words slowly and carefully to avoid making embarrassing mistakes. "It can only get better, dorogaya." he teased. Marie smacked his shoulder again. "eto udivitel'no, chto dazhe tsar' mozhet byt' mudak. [sup][4][/sup]" Retorted Marie, as she snuggled further onto his body. "But you still love me." Voltus began to kiss the queen's neck and her urge to resist slowly weakened. She closed her book and threw it into a corner, instead grabbing her husband's head and pushing his lips onto her's. Even though she instigated the move, she gasped and for Voltus, it was nice to know he could still take her breath away. In the midst of the heated kiss, someone knocked on the door and great reluctance, Voltus pulled himself away from his wife's lips. "I'm a bit busy!" he called out to whom ever was interrupting his time with his wife. "It's 7:30, Your majesty." Replied muted voice from beyond the heavy wooden doors. Voltus checked his watch and sighed, it was 7:30. He looked back down at his wife and called to the man. "Give me a moment." Voltus planted his lips heavily onto Marie's lips and yearned for more but puled away as abruptly as he started, "I must go my love, but when I return expect more then just kissing." His wife grinned. "Sounds... Nice." she said. Voltus clambered clumsily out of the couch and the queen returned to her book, he quickly dawned his clothes and threw over them his trench coat and emerged into the bright, electric lit hallway. "I'm sorry if I intruded on anything," said the man as Voltus shut the door behind him, "You might want to wipe the lipstick off your face before we proceed." The man laughed and Voltus smiled as he wiped it off with a handkerchief. The man who dared talk to the Tsar in such a way was Petrov Zamili, a talented communications specialist and close friend of Voltus. The pair had first met when Voltus decided to start a project that required Petrov's certain skill set, the Tsar wanted to have his own radio program for some reason. The program started at eight and carried on to eight-fortyfive, it was basically him talking, nothing patriotic or speech but more conversational, talking with people about his childhood and his life in general and his opinions on things that should have not even mattered to him but did, like a play or a book. It was an opportunity for him to connect with his people that no other Tsar or Tsarina had before. He accepted calls and read letters, it made the people think him not so much as an imposing figure but more as a tangible person that they could relate to. [center]--------------------[/center] [i]7:59PM (0 VMT)[/i] The broadcast room was in the attic of the west wing, along with all the broadcasting equipment and an archive of previously broadcasted segments and music disks. At the heart of the system was a small, cubical like room the size of an elevator, it had plush walls to stop echoing and a comfortable chair sat in front of a microphone. After such a long time of doing this, Voltus still had butterflies in his stomach when he sat in that chair, waiting for the red, 'On Air' light came on, he knew that millions of people would be tuning in to listen and he didn't want to slip up. The red light slowly began to blink, counting down from ten to zero, from beyond a pane of glass Petrov had put on his headphones and had started some soft music to play in the background. Voltus put on his headphones and the light stopped blinking, he was on air. "Good evening, friends," he began, "You may have noticed form the lead in but if you haven't, listen closely. Yes, We've changed the music. Special thanks to Skya and The Wayside Bunch for sending me their record, for the listeners at home Skya and her gang operate out of a garage in Dovostok province, they are relatively new to the music scene so bid them good luck..." As the Tsar spoke almost everyone in Ventium was tuning in, listening intently to his words and the way the music complimented how he spoke. Even in their far flung colony, people were listening in, Voltus wanted to make sure that no Ventian was missing out or anyone for that matter. [center]--------------------[/center] [i]8:44PM (0 VMT)[/I] "Alas dear listeners, We've come to the end of our little conversation and I'm sad that we have to part so soon..." He paused and poured himself a cup of water and he did, a call came in, he picked up the receiver and spoke around the cup, "you're on the air, this is Voltus." a tinny voice came from the beyond the speaker. "What is it that you drink at the end of ever segment?" asked his son, Ampov. Voltus was struck to hear the boy's voice, Ampov had left the palace at fifteen to pursue a life serving God and had gone to a monastery to become a monk, Voltus wasn't aware that they had phones in monasteries. "Water," replied Voltus, grinning, "Shouldn't you be studying?" "Shouldn't you be governing?" retorted his son light heartedly. "Touche." "In all seriousness though, I've got to go. See you in the summer father." Ampov put the receiver back into it's little cradle and the line went dead, Voltus clicked the phone back in in place. "Well friends, I bid you all goodnight and sweet dreams, and remember to head down to Davostok this winter, where Skya and The Wayside Bunch will be preforming all season long in Le Grande Hotel. Night all." Voltus looked up at the light as the music in the background slowly faded, when the music had stopped, the light had switched off and Voltus sighed. He missed his son. "I'm going to go get a drink your majesty, care to join me?" asked Petrov, as he turned off the broadcasting equipment, Voltus shook his head and took off his headphones. "Unfortunately not. I've got a flight to catch soon and I have to get to St. Azure to pick up Felicity." Petrov nodded in acknowledgment, and gathered up his hat and coat. "Well then, until next time Voltus." "Until then." Replied the Tsar, he had a long night ahead of him. [center]--------------------[/center] [i]3:32AM (-4 VMT)[/i] The flight had been long and boring, unfortunately Voltus couldn't sleep through it as he would have liked to, even if he were traveling, he was still Tsar and he had work to do. He spent the twelve hours of flying hunched over a wooden desk, reading and writing and ratifying laws and legislation suggested by various members of the government. He would have had the help of his daughter, but unfortunately her conference had been extended for the foreseeable future as debates became tense about management pay. However, he must have fallen asleep, as he woke up face down on his desk, the cabin announcement pinging, the pilot's voice spoke through the p.a. "Good morning your majesty and crew, We are making landfall in Eisenkries. Please proceed to the departure bays and await until we are fully moored." Voltus felt the Zeppelin descend beneath his feted he made his way to a rest room to freshen up, he didn't want to look like a fool in front of the Hegemon. Voltus stepped out of the departure hatch and stretched a bit, his black trench coat flapping in the light dawn breeze. 'This is Eisenkries then?' he thought to himself as he found himself gravitated to a bench, plonking himself down, he picked up yesterday's news and began reading, his guards standing nearby just in case. [center]--------------------[/center] [i]Footnotes:[/i] [1]. "What does this say, darling?" [2]. "come on, what does it say?" [3]. Tzan, a language belonging to a minority Ventian population who live in the far north. Not a commonly spoken language in the south. [4]. "it's amazing that even a Tsar can be an asshole."