He Who Controls the East [DE]

One would think, in a perfect world, that things would be better than they were. That's what everyone thinks, right? Oh well, didn't matter. Alexander Roberic Hope, the Father of the Hope House and utterly rustled bastard, stood at a local town center within East City. Much of the electricity had been shutting down for a few days now. A nearby fountain, barely puddling water, was ripe for pointless metaphors and comparison. Alexander, suddenly, huffed a seemingly exasperated sigh. It was brief. The last two months were a strange haze; inevitably, nothing substantially good came out of it. "Depopulation" was the worst of it. Some disastrous thing after another, and no one else remained in the east. Pathetic. Then again, citizens made business, along with some nice conversation. Alexander, of all people, couldn't deny that -- be it for the House or his family within it.

Reaching into his suit vest, a thin, pearly object was revealed. A portion of it unfurled. A flag. Promptly, taking to an archaic method akin to the times he lived in, the Father struck the in between of the brick beneath him! The miniature flagpole was haphazardly inserted, being released before being jammed in further. Propping his left foot atop the plain, white flag, Alexander made an entirely brief, silly posture to himself before sliding a palm into his left pant pocket. He'd need a few calls. Rehabilitation was in order, in essence.

Capturing East City, now for real. The circumstances aren't great anyway.

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