A Twist Of Time

thirty one

"Valerie, wake up!" Margaux screamed, pulling my blanket away. "We're late. We are expected to vacate and head for Base One at eleven thirty today! It's ten thirty!"

"Ten more minutes, please," I requested, rolling over.

"Ten more minutes do not exist at the moment. We need to leave!"

"Why are we leaving? I was never informed about this trip," I asked, my voice muffled.

"Neither was Sergio. Or me. Or anyone. General Rutherweld just sent a messenger to tell us that they needed assistance in their camp."

"General Rutherweld?" I got up and looked at her weirdly.

"Sadly. Marisse's uncle. He's apparently a good man, but his niece and his sister-in law are rotten. I assume he's just like them. I've met him when I was little, and I still don't like him to this day. Get up! Your things are already packed."

"Who is 'we,' exactly?"

"He decided to bring Jane, me, you, Fettuccine, the Presidential Security Group, a few palace staff, and some of Quezon's relics."

"What about Hisako?" I asked.

"She'll be following us tomorrow with the soldiers."

With that, I forced myself to dress up and meet up with everyone else downstairs. Jane had multiple stains on her coat from hurrying, a sleeping Hisako was carried by a Filipino soldier (which caused me to think, weren't the soldiers the reason why Hisako couldn't roam around the palace freely?), and the Sison Cousins were assisting Margaux with the luggage. Sergio was already inside the car, his hands holding a shiny gold fountain pen and writing abnormally fast. He held the pen between his teeth afterwards, took the paper, folded it, and put it inside his coat for safety.

"Ma'am, it's best you go inside and stay with the President. Security risks are high," Breadly said, reading straight from Margaux's clipboard. The latter smiled in approval at him right after.

"Thank you, Breadly. I appreciate your help," I replied. He didn't even realize that I called him "Breadly."

I did as told. Sergio was quiet and uneasy, repeatedly looking at the windows. He ended up waving a soldier to come over and asking him to tell the staff to move faster. I put a hand on his.

"Are you alright?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know," he said, obviously confused. "I've had too much to drink last night and I was awoken in a rather abrupt way, I have to write multiple telegrams to General Rutherweld, we are running late, and I haven't had my cup of coffee yet."

"Well, that's devastating. Calm down. You're alright."

He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the usually neatly combed hair he always had. He didn't look like the President I fought with and learned about in elementary. He looked different. (Well aren't I just an idiot—of course he'd look different. If I dressed up in a chicken suit and looked at a mirror, I wouldn't see the bitchy girl I am. I'll just look like some psycho in a chicken suit.)

"Do you want something to calm you down?" I asked, shaking off my thoughts.

He nodded. "Please."

"There's this song you always remind me of."

"Oh dear, I hope it's not about death."

I smirked. "No. It's about murder and illnesses."

He looked shocked. "You're joking, right? I don't think anyone would have the audacity to write that and publish it."