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Tales of the shameless

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By the time it started, principality had already ended.

[Part 1]


Paddington Station.
It is where the trains of Britain get in to London and the two young travelers are newly brought in from Grantham. They look awful, this pair, outwardly exhausted from the long, grim journey in the stench, barely air-conditioned heat of english trains. The man, Richard, looks vacantly into nothingness. He wears a black, grubby suit, noticeably cheap by the way it crumples, an uninviting, pained expression on his worn face. The station cafe is noisy and busy at two in the afternoon. He sits down and the other traveler, a young teenager, sits by. She is curvy by stature. Not of a thickset manner, but not skinny. She is significantly darker skinned than the older man. Both give each other solemn stares before plaintively looking away. A sinister, unspoken word is shared between the two.

"Why me?"

Richard watches as the teenagers eyes wander through the crowds. They pass through the smoke and the noise - to men in suits with newspapers, like his own. A voice on the table over suddenly erupts information about trains. A hard-edged voice penetrating from somewhere outside where the wind invades the claustrophobic spaces of the station. The voice is like a tap of sound. Turned on, turned off. Richard is familiar now with the facile snatch of tune that precedes each irruption of this voice.

The voice, the echo

and the facile snatch of tune, when it sounds, has started to seem like an extension of his exhaustion, like something inside him. Something subjective. The teenager pulls out her phone with shaking hands. The life of the station plunges and swirls like a dirty stream. People. People moving through the station like a dirty stream. And that stare again. 

"Why this?"

The teenagers eyes notice a shape in the distance. The shape starts to materialise a shadow at first, then a figure, finally a man. Richard looks behind, sheepishly, staring at the person. He is tall and dogged. His bald, square head towering over the habitual English travelers. Marching over with a spontaneous smile. "Coffee, ano?". Richard says nothing. Secretly hoping that the teenager doesn't answer. A few awkward moments pass. "Coffee." the Chernorussian affirms, walking off. A walking mountain over hills. They know the man well, by trade. An ex CDF officer named Yarif. He wasn't responsible for his actions, just following orders. A patriot turned capitalist. The pair don't blame the man, but still hate him for it. Richard glares at the teenager, silently motioning for her to put away her phone. She looks back with deep, mournful green eyes. She is eating a packet of toffee popcorn, the sort of thing she always has on her, in her rucksack. She takes a double look for a moment as if she doesn't know what he's asking her to do. Then nods, and puts the cracked, white iPhone away. The man comes over with 3 paper cups of cappuccinos, still spinning from the lavassa instant coffee maker. "Out of spoons." The eastern european exclaims as the two take their coffees.

"We wait here, ano? Man is coming soon."

Edited by KingRP

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This is very well written. Reads like its written by an actual writer unlike most stories and characters on the forums.

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I like this, Kingu! Please write more, okay? ❤️ 

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"Every man's life serves a purpose, even if his only purpose is to serve as a bad example"




What have I done?

What have I done?

What have I..

A train would hiss loudly.


The trains had almost stopped in time. The people were moving slower, almost in a hypnotic, sedated pattern. A flock of flustered backpackers wade through the stream. The rhythm of the station is temperamental at off-peak time. A breeze passes by from the overworked fans on the glass canopy. Richard has traveled to London before, but never in the middle of the day. Not in this heat.

Never with such anguish.

There is some discussion, as they drink, of how much more expensive everything is in England. The conversation is potted and contained. Yarif complains about the food. He says its healthier in South Zagoria. All agree the girls are prettier in the European bloc. The teenager, Lucy, as she describes herself, explain that the prettiest girls from California are always the ones with a Slavic descent. Richard pronounces the whole place to be a soulless disneyland. Lucy describes her interest in watching "Cali" vloggers as she codes. "It keeps my mind at rest when I hear the voices." She claims to the two puzzled older men. There is suddenly an impertinent silence. Lucy twiddles her finger in the now lukewarm coffee. Richard observes a barista, dancing around her cramped Starbucks kiosk. Yarif briefly checks his phone and concludes the reticence.

"He has arrived."

All of a sudden, the three simultaneously start moving. Leaving their unfinished coffees and sweaty, white chairs behind. Richard takes one more longful look at the coffee girl before disappearing into the madness.

Hundreds of faces

A sea of hungry, angry faces. A father snaps at his children. Teenage girls take SnapChat selfies with Paddington Bear. A young tourist couple get decimated by the busy british public. Yarif leads the way through the chaos. A hardened battleship against fishing boats. He barges passed left and right. Only limited by his mutual respect for British politeness.  Finally they reach the exit. Yarif scans the battlefield, spotting the target. He motions for the apathetic two to follow. 

They see him.

He is smiling.

Edited by King

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