Mags

"Of course," He said with a pointed smile. Maylee waved politely towards the door, "I can show you out sir."

(It does). Forest took the contract and signed it himself, then Maylee passed around another copy for them to sign so they could each keep one. After that was done, Forrest stood and held out his hand for the ambassador to shake it. "I suppose everything's in order then? I'll do my part in helping our winners conveniently disappear."

Maylee handed him a pen to sign the document at the bottom, in official agreement.

"That wouldn't be necessary, and the time they spend and where should not be monitored." Forrest insisted. He waved to Maylee, who had finished writing out a draft of the agreement. She handed it to him, and he checked it over. Forrest then handed it to the Ambassador to read as well.

Forrest frowned. "I'm rather adverse to that idea. My agent's business are their own, and it needn't be known by others. I asked for them to pass freely after all." He sat down again to be eye level with the man. "Rest assured, they will cause no harm, you won't even notice their presence. If something unfortunate were to happen, I'd take full responsibility."

"Commit genocide?! I just said warmongering was not to my taste!" But Forrest was chuckling as he said it. "I want nothing so violent. How about this: Correspondence between myself and your leaders, as well as permission for select agents of mine to pass freely through your land. I'll personally see to it that things remain on a private scale, of course. Leaders of the dystopia needn't know of such advantages."

"Many of my associates would argue otherwise--they don't want peace, they want the land they see as theirs returned to them. Your sovereignty is not well respected here, not so soon after war." Forrest stood, pacing a little in thought. "But don't worry, warmongering and threats are not to my liking, nor do they serve my purposes. You were wise to come to me with this request. Unlike most, my interests aren't wholly aligned with the state--My country is an end to a means." "Why don't you agree to do me a few grand favors, and I'll see what strings I can pull. I doubt you'll get a similar offer elsewhere, most wouldn't even be willing to speak with you."

"And how would that benefit me, friend?"

"It isn't?" His grinned returned. "Are you sure? Intentionally or unintentionally this will cause major political unrest. With such a public figure as the victor leaving the Dystopia right after the games, people will talk . . . 'If the Dystopia's greatest hero can leave, I should be able to as well.' They'll want to escape in the thousands, and I'm sure you can see how that would cause trouble for the my friends running the state. They'd be rather annoyed with me if I allowed such a thing to happen--I'd loose hard-won connections." He set his coffee on the desk. It'd gotten cold already. "To give you a newly won symbol is a great sacrifice, surely you can see that. So, I ask again what you would offer me and my colleagues."

"And you are clearly biased, more, perhaps, then others." But Forrest's grin faded. "I may not be the right person to come to with this request, I'm a maker of games, not policies. That said it I might be able to pull some strings. The question is, what will you do for me? To hand my rival something they so clearly want without benefit would be ridiculous."

Forrest grinned. "Are you implying life in the Dystopia is also hellish, my friend? Many would disagree with you there." Maylee returned, steaming coffee in hand. "I've sent the messages sir, and we're waiting on a response." Forrest nodded and took the coffee from her. Maylee glanced at the ambassador curiously, but went back to her work otherwise unbothered. "The victor running off to the Free states, if that is what they choose, would make quite the political statement. You may find it won't work entirely in your favor--just my advice." He took a sip of the coffee, it was still a little too hot, but that didn't bother him.

"Sure." Forrest gestured at the chair near Maylee's table. "I was not aware we were receiving an ambassador, at least not at this time. What are you here to negotiate?"

"What is it?" Forrest asked, not in the mood to deal with timidness. He tried to sound kindly enough.

Forrest glanced up from the notebook he'd started mapping out some new plans in. "Come in," He said, trying not to sound annoyed at being disturbed.

Good game guys!!! I had a ton of fun and I look forward to being involved in the next one Now time to write a scene about Lee being depressed heheheheheeheh

Sharlin hadn't expected it, the mistake of turning her back only occurring to her after it was too late. It was funny, the pain shooting through her neck was hard to focus on with the horrible cracking sound of the knife slamming into her. Her body instinctively took a breath in and she started choking on the blood. It tasted bad. He was in front of her, Sharlin saw him coming. She tried to shoot him again as he came, but her hand was shaking and she couldn't breath. The shot went wild, and the loud BANG shook her to her core. The tomahawk sliced into her stomach and it's momentum set her crashing fully into the ground. She caught a flash of her long brown hair mixed with the pool of blood slowly spreading from her throat. If she could have, Sharlin would have giggled. It looked just look black glossy curls on bloody white tile. Those stupid black curls. Everything went red. Not angry, painful red. Red carpets and scrubbed up blood stains. Red stifling silk robes and red bows and hard red chairs. Sharlin gripped her gun tightly, it was still comforting in her hand, the way a gun had always been. A little piece of power for the powerless. The eyes opened again, no longer angry in their staring. They were just watching, witnessing it all. Who watches a play and then looks away during the closing scene? She didn't blame them. She was there too. Black curls and a faceless stare winding out of the shadows between the trees. Sharlin would have liked to see the ocean when she died, but a dead sister would have to do instead. --- Sharp watched the knife go through Sharlin's throat helplessly. He watched as her blood started running in between various leaves and stems of undergrowth. The mist around Sharlins shadowy form coalesced into something more solid to his eyes. Sharp knew from past Games Sharlin only had a few seconds in his realm before she was pulled away into the next one--the one he couldn't enter. A horrible hope shoved its way into his heart. The metal spike was still stuck in Sharlin's body, maybe there was some way she could hold on from this side, the way he had done-- But it was already too late. She had sat up, but was already half gone. Sharp thought of something, anything to say before she went. He should apologize. He should say something comforting. All at once he was hit with how old he felt and how childish she had seemed to him. Sharlin was looking at him through the misty haze of this place. She didn't smile, but she didn't glare either. Her soul looked unstable, shaking and falling apart faster then normal. Some small fire remained in her eyes as her body slip away. "About rusting time," Sharlin growled as the last of her was sucked off into whatever lay Beyond. Sharp's voice was caught in his throat. Another grandchild dead. --- Forrest sat back in his office. The death scene played on several monitors in front of him, showing different angles. He ran a hand through his silvery hair, releasing the tension he'd felt during the fight. A little tinge of a disappointment rattled around inside him. All that work for nothing. Some may have called him foolish for gambling on the victory of a Sharp, but he didn't believe in curses and legends. He was old enough to understand silly superstitious were just a human way of explaining outliers and extremes. "Sir?" Maylee, his secretary, asked. She'd been working on some paperwork at a table behind his desk and pretending not to watch the fight from over his shoulder. "Should I . . . pull out some of our planning files for revisions?" Forrest pulled off the earpiece he'd been wearing to get the arena's audio and lay it on the desk. "Yes, I'm afraid we're going to have to start again from the beginning." Maylee adjusted her glasses and glanced at the screens in front of him. "Won't whatever winning tribute work? I mean . . . it's not like Sharlin ever really was the noble hero you were looking for." "Do you really think any winner of a death game would be?" She frowned. Forrest appreciated her eagerness to work around problems, but youth brought impatience. He sighed. "I had other reasons for choosing Sharlin, but there's no use in dwelling on it now." Maylee nodded, her curly brown hair bouncing. "I'll send out correspondence informing the others, I suppose you'll want to hold a meeting." "Yes." Forrest said, turning back to the screen. It really was a shame. There'd been more there then met the eye and he'd been hoping to pick it apart. Perhaps if he was lucky, this wouldn't be the last time he dealt with a Sharp. He had Intel there were a few others left somewhere out there . . . "Maylee?" "Yes sir?" She was already halfway out of the office's door, one hand on the door knob. "Get me a coffee."

Welcome to the Shard!! Do you like bagels?? Who is your least favorite character so far?

helloooo everyonee Sharlin might die soon lol