Clarenthia
Establishing Nation
- Joined
- May 4, 2010
- Messages
- 1,148
- Capital
- Alaghan
- Nick
- Jurzidentia
Caccio’s Calle 21
City of Matapalo Beach | La Cuidad de Playa Matapalo
The State of La Savana
Northern Coastline of Clarenthia
“a un gran fin de semana!” Marcy called as the mugs of beer clanged against one another, splashing it all over their hands. The group laughed as the seven of them pulled their arms back to drink.
Brendan smiled as the group’s conversations turned to a mild roar in the background noise of the bar. By some grace of a higher power, they had found themselves a table by the patio – which had its walls opened up for an unobstructed view of Matapalo’s pearl blue water against its famous pink sands. With the warm ocean breeze gently hitting against, he couldn’t feel farther away from Deppegrave, which was gripped by bitter cold this time of year. To think it had only been a week prior that he discovered his shoes had holes in them – in the most uncomfortable of ways – by having the melted snow seep through into his socks. It truly felt like two different worlds.
“I’m glad you were able to come,” Marcy chimed her glass “even if it was last minute. We should do this every year, kick off the summer by coming here.”
“We couldn’t afford it,” Brendan chuckled and turned his attention back to her “Thank you for inviting me, though. I really needed this. I mean I’m proud of Matt, sure, but to just barge in like that and announce to us all that he was leaving.”
“I know,” Marcy cut him off “Let’s not think about that right now and just enjoy the weekend.”
“Sure, would you mind watching my glass? I have to go to the bathroom,” Brendan got up from the high-top table and walked toward the bathroom.
“I thought getting roofied was half the fun!” one of his friends called out behind him.
Sometimes, you don’t realize just how badly you have to pee until you find yourself third in line, four beers deep, after five hours of sitting on the beach. Suddenly the blissful sounds of the ocean turned into torture, but thankfully this far in you couldn’t really hear it.
“You’re literally surrounded by a bathroom,” he remembered Jake calling to him.
“That’s fucking disgusting,” he remembered yelling back.
“Then suffer man, I don’t know.”
Before he had even known it, the line had gone to zero and the door opened up finally letting him in. The stream of justice that came out and the instant, neigh orgasmic relief that followed felt better than sex itself. Not that Brendan really knew, because, well…he was rather shy in that department. But he certainly theorized the two feelings were on par. It was good enough that he hadn’t noticed the rather wet floor beneath the toilet that only half an inch of a rubber flip flop was protecting his bare feet from touching. “Just water,” he was somewhat sure. As he walked back to the table, it became apparent to him that the bar had gotten eerily silent.
“Everything okay?” Brendan asked, before he followed everyone’s gaze to the four televisions above the bar – all four on separate news channels but covering the same events. Children, covered in blood, fires raging across buildings, emergency vehicles frantically trying to navigate the rubble, and finally a pan over shot of an entire city seemingly set ablaze.
“What is that?” Brendan asked.
“Ouistreham got bombed,” Jake said “They’re saying it’s really bad.”
“Got bombed by who?” Brendan’s heart started to panic as he felt light headed.
“The Burgundians, who the fuck knew they could even do that?” Jake answered.
One of the tv’s cut to a picture of a tattered Clarenthian flag, with holes and covered in mud lying on the ground next to a bombed out building where firefighters were frantically fighting back the blaze. “DOMAIN COMMAND OUTPOST 717” was embedded on the side of the building.
“Hey wait didn’t Matt just get sent..ow!” Marcy hit Jake before he could finish the sentence, she turned to Brendan.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I uh, I need to go call my mom,” Brendan stumbled out of the bar, ignoring Marcy’s calls.
City of Matapalo Beach | La Cuidad de Playa Matapalo
The State of La Savana
Northern Coastline of Clarenthia
“a un gran fin de semana!” Marcy called as the mugs of beer clanged against one another, splashing it all over their hands. The group laughed as the seven of them pulled their arms back to drink.
Brendan smiled as the group’s conversations turned to a mild roar in the background noise of the bar. By some grace of a higher power, they had found themselves a table by the patio – which had its walls opened up for an unobstructed view of Matapalo’s pearl blue water against its famous pink sands. With the warm ocean breeze gently hitting against, he couldn’t feel farther away from Deppegrave, which was gripped by bitter cold this time of year. To think it had only been a week prior that he discovered his shoes had holes in them – in the most uncomfortable of ways – by having the melted snow seep through into his socks. It truly felt like two different worlds.
“I’m glad you were able to come,” Marcy chimed her glass “even if it was last minute. We should do this every year, kick off the summer by coming here.”
“We couldn’t afford it,” Brendan chuckled and turned his attention back to her “Thank you for inviting me, though. I really needed this. I mean I’m proud of Matt, sure, but to just barge in like that and announce to us all that he was leaving.”
“I know,” Marcy cut him off “Let’s not think about that right now and just enjoy the weekend.”
“Sure, would you mind watching my glass? I have to go to the bathroom,” Brendan got up from the high-top table and walked toward the bathroom.
“I thought getting roofied was half the fun!” one of his friends called out behind him.
Sometimes, you don’t realize just how badly you have to pee until you find yourself third in line, four beers deep, after five hours of sitting on the beach. Suddenly the blissful sounds of the ocean turned into torture, but thankfully this far in you couldn’t really hear it.
“You’re literally surrounded by a bathroom,” he remembered Jake calling to him.
“That’s fucking disgusting,” he remembered yelling back.
“Then suffer man, I don’t know.”
Before he had even known it, the line had gone to zero and the door opened up finally letting him in. The stream of justice that came out and the instant, neigh orgasmic relief that followed felt better than sex itself. Not that Brendan really knew, because, well…he was rather shy in that department. But he certainly theorized the two feelings were on par. It was good enough that he hadn’t noticed the rather wet floor beneath the toilet that only half an inch of a rubber flip flop was protecting his bare feet from touching. “Just water,” he was somewhat sure. As he walked back to the table, it became apparent to him that the bar had gotten eerily silent.
“Everything okay?” Brendan asked, before he followed everyone’s gaze to the four televisions above the bar – all four on separate news channels but covering the same events. Children, covered in blood, fires raging across buildings, emergency vehicles frantically trying to navigate the rubble, and finally a pan over shot of an entire city seemingly set ablaze.
“What is that?” Brendan asked.
“Ouistreham got bombed,” Jake said “They’re saying it’s really bad.”
“Got bombed by who?” Brendan’s heart started to panic as he felt light headed.
“The Burgundians, who the fuck knew they could even do that?” Jake answered.
One of the tv’s cut to a picture of a tattered Clarenthian flag, with holes and covered in mud lying on the ground next to a bombed out building where firefighters were frantically fighting back the blaze. “DOMAIN COMMAND OUTPOST 717” was embedded on the side of the building.
“Hey wait didn’t Matt just get sent..ow!” Marcy hit Jake before he could finish the sentence, she turned to Brendan.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I uh, I need to go call my mom,” Brendan stumbled out of the bar, ignoring Marcy’s calls.