19th September, 1941
13 Brant Street
A brown sedan pulled up outside 13 Brant Street, a white house with red bricks for the roof, where history would be made. The house of Oddswalth. Out of the sedan stepped a man with red hair wearing a navy blue suit with a black tie. He was Simon Koppaberg, a well known politician, though not as well known as Oddswalth, of course. As he shut the car door behind him, he once again thought about the colour; twice today. He never liked it. He always called it ‘toilet brown’. He wanted to get some paint and turn it blue. But paint was expensive nowadays. Besides, the car was dirt cheap. It was one of the few cars seen on the street these days.
It was all because of Frilandr, he thought. It had become very centralised in the recent months, so political and economic power had been stripped from the region, even more so with Pledonia now independent. The streets had descended into chaos, riots left and right, and burning flags of Frilandr in the middle. The people seemed to think that Nakosa could get away from the clingy hands of Frilandr, but he wasn’t sure. But, he thought, if there’s anyone who can do that, it’s Oddswalth Bringington. He had called on him so they could discuss whether or not this should happen.
The noise of a car engine could be heard down the street as Simon knocked on the door. A white minivan, with black tinted windows, pulled up behind the brown sedan and nearly clipped the rear bumper. The owner of the van was Markus Svenson, ringleader of the riots, dressed in a white jacket and red tie, with long, blue jeans. He was a maniac, but a genius maniac, everyone thought. He opened the door and yelled, ‘Am I late?’. ‘No,’ replied Simon, a little disappointed. He didn’t hate Markus, but he had a mild feeling of dislike towards him. ‘Oh, good,’ said Markus. ‘I can be a bit late sometimes.’
‘Just come here. Oddswalth could be at the door any minute.’ Simon said, impatiently. At that moment, the door unlocked and opened. Standing inside was Oddswalth, with a grey but neatly trimmed beard, wearing a red vest, with a white shirt and yellow tie. ‘Ah, you are here, come in, come in,’ he said, inviting them in with a gesture of his hand. They entered the living room, an impressively clean room, with everything a shade of brown or red. in the corner was a fireplace, stacked with wood for the meeting. In front of that, was a round coffee table, surrounded by three chairs. As they took their shoes off and were invited to sit down, Simon thought, Well, this is it.