[b]The Streets of Moscow[/b]

As the sun settled into the center of the sky, droves of people flocked around a large, square building in the center of Moscow. The sign overhead read "Bank", but the building had since been repurposed. Inside was where all the food shipments to the city were kept, under careful eye of armed guards. Every day, people lined up outside the building at noon, sacks in hand, waiting to get their grain ration for the day. Among the hundreds of hungry mouths stood a small child, no older than twelve, though looking about half that age, with an old pillow case draped over their bony shoulder. Their hair was long and wild, and as dark as the dirt caked to their skin. 

When the line finally progressed enough for it to be the child's turn, they raised the bag, blue eyes looking at the soldiers expectantly. When the soldier dumped only one scoop of grain in the bag, the child looked confused, and raised it once more.

"I'm sorry. This week's shipment was raided by those damned bastards in Smolensk. Everyone must suffer this week because of them. I'm sorry, little girl."

After a small, lingering stare, the child lowered their bag, clenching it around the top, and began to walk away, dragging it behind them. Not soon after, they heard footsteps approaching, and turned to see a tall man without hair, head covered in tattoos. Instinctively, they dropped their bag, cowering, ready for the worst. Instead, they heard a pouring sound. As they opened their eyes, they saw the man pouring his own grain into their sack. 

"Moscow needs you fit as can be, little one. We may be the ones fighting now, but the future belongs to you. Now hurry home. Not all who longer in these streets are so kind." 

With a quick nod, and a quiet "Thank You!", the child turned around, sack slung over their shoulder, and ran home as fast as possible. The man simply watched as they ran, letting out a small chuckle. 

"Was that really wise?" Came a voice from behind him, as a woman with a rifle slung over her back stepped out of the shadows.

"Wise, I don't know. But you saw that child. If they do not eat well, they won't make it to next year." The bald man said with a frown.

"If we don't eat, [i]we[/I] won't make it to next year, Alexei." The woman replied with a grimmace.

"Yes, Katerina, but there's a hidden beauty you are not seeing. The woods are full of creatures that we can track down and kill, in order to have a bounty of meat that will last us through the spring!" Alexei said with a chuckle.

"Yes, BUT-" Katerina objected. "You forget, hunting is strictly forbidden to all but the army. Food must be divided equally. Tsars orders."

With that, a long smile slowly crept across Alexei's face. "Yes, my dear, but you forget… The forests to the North are not we'll guarded, as well as not out of bounds. Even if we get caught, we can just act as if we are Arkhangelsk residents, and go about our merry way. There are many ways around the law these days. We might as well make the best out of them as we can, no?"

"Alexei, you cunning fox." Katerina laughed. "You better get a move on. I'm not eating moldy hardtack again if I can help it."

"As you command." Alexei said with a bow, before turning, and heading down an alleyway, with Katerina in tow.


[b]Inside the Kremlin, Moscow[/b]

Heavy footfalls echoed throughout the building, as the steel toed boots of the Tsar met the tiled floors of the hallway she sped down. A gaggle of advisors followed closely in tow, the chorus of a hundred pencils, all writing at once announcing their presence. 

"Now tell me, how is the food situation in the city this week?" Came the stern voice of Moscow and Tsar from a face that didn't quite seem to match it. "I know those damn Smolensk bastards raided us again."

"Y-yes ma'am!" Stuttered a reply from a boy that looked to be half the Tsars age. "If the reports are right… It's going to b-be another rough week.

The Tsar stopped short, turning to the boy and making him cower instinctively. "Well, don't we have any more food in reserves that we can give out??"

"N-no ma'am. We're a-all out. This is the sixth raid this month. Th-the generals say it will only get worse, and that we should take action if w-we want to stop it."

"Yes, and I've told those old fucks time and time again. If we divert men to fight Smolensk, then we risk losing the St Petersburg front! The last thing we need is the "proper Tsar" sending his armies at at while our backs are turned. We just don't have the capacity to fight two fronts right now."

"Well, ma'am." Came a different voice from the back. "There is always the Ruthenia Plan."

The Tsar stopped, her hawkish eyes softening for a moment as she pondered the thought. "Yes…" she finally replied. "If we were to ally with Ukraine, we certainly would stop seeing such horrendous good shortages. Though it would mean losing them as a territory once we win the war…"

"With all due respect, ma'am." Came the same voice. "If we keep having these food shortages, the only way we'll win this war is if our enemies all freeze to death in the winter. The Hetman only asks for recognition of her people's independence. If you do that, then Moscow will have all the food it needs. The Ukrainians guard their trade shipments well."

After a long silence, the Tsar finally spoke. "Fine. Nervous boy, prepare my study. I need to write a letter to the Hetman post haste. You, confident woman. Find the chief of radio. I'm going to broadcast my formal recognition of the Hetman and her government. I know most of our own people will not hear it but… the rest of Russia needs to know. Moscow will do what need to be done to win this war."

"Yes ma'am!" The two said in unison, before splitting off in different directions. The Tsar watched them go as well as she could, before taking a seaton a small bench,and looking out a window.

"Ukraine, hm? Who would have thought." She muttered as she watched a pair of birds fly in front of her.