̗̀ (her) is that SOPHIE COOKSON coming off the private jet? oh no that’s ULYSSES HOPE the 24 year old CROWN PRINCESS of SWITZERLAND. people often say they remind them of GUNPOWDER, WHISKY and MASQUERADES. they are arranged to marry ANY MALE/FEMALE FC ( Fox, GMT +8, him/his) * ( No sibling spots yet )
Summary
Recently named as the sole heir of the Hope Monarchy in Switzerland, Ulysses was far from the scope of consideration until the death of her brother, Crown Prince Johnathan. Resolved to her new responsibilities, Uly tackles all problems with the same headstrong fervour, ever one to beat submission from her issues.
Ulysses, though a Hope, was primarily raised by her brothers and sisters in the Swiss Special Forces. From her time she learned many life lessons, none of which pertain to the intricate dance of intrigue and deception that culminates a political lifestyle.
Uly has never been a romantic in any sense of the word. The concept of any relationship other than practical is foreign to her. Losing friends in the field likewise hardened her already icey approach to friendship… however any willing to dig a little beneath the surface will find a sarcastic and sharp wit willing and able to engage in banter at a moments notice.
*****Trigger warning: Death/Injury + Swearing
Soft footfalls, gentle breathing. Calm. In, out.
Crack!
The door slammed open, splinters scattering into the already dusty air as Ulysses advanced into the cramped office space. Full length glass windows covered the furthest walls allowing passage for the moon’s light to offer minimal illumination of the dark interior. The multiple corners and hiding spaces crammed into such a small space made Uly’s hackles rise, the comforting weight of her assault rifle swivelling through the motion’s she’d done hundreds of times before.
Corner, corner, sweep.
“Clear” echoed the soft baritone of her partner, Steele, sounding loud and out of place in the otherwise quiet room, amplified further through her own plastic ear piece.
“Floor clear.” She echoed in response, lowering her rifle to a mid-raise as her hazel iris’ continued to scan the dim space. She needn’t have waited long, the grizzly tone of Lieutenant Sharpe crackling in her ear a moment later.
“Strike-two, hold-tight and fortify.”
“Copy.” Murmured Steele. She heard him hunkering down in the opposite corner of the room, the red laser-sight of his rifle briefly flashing on the plaster wall beside the doorway as he checked his aim. Uly shifted her weight, setting a padded knee against the ground as she turned her head, scanning the adjacent office building.
“You think Rowler’s got as much clout as they implied at the briefing?” crackled Jameson’s voice over their private line, barely a whisper. Uly shrugged in response, knowing he couldn’t see her past the empty cubicles between them.
“He’s got enough that they had to call us in... Hijacking military shipments ain’t exactly easy.” She muttered, earning a snort in response. After a few moments of pregnant silence, Uly emitted a long breath, whispering into the headset microphone dangling near her mouth.
“So, you finally getting up the balls to propose to Katie this weekend?”
If blushing made a sound, it would have just filled the room. Oh, you big softie. She couldn’t help but laugh softly, hushed. “If you don’t propose to her soon, I might take her from you.”
“You probably could, at that.” Was his only reply, before they both snorted.
Their humour cut short a moment later as Lieutenant Sharpe’s voice crackled over the radio, sounding terse. “Strike-two, prepare for contact. Strike-one has four hostiles moving down the north-east stairwell. Weapons hot, aim for non-lethal. Copy?”
“Copy.” The pair echoed, a brief shuffling breaking the silence as adrenaline began to awaken tiring muscles, guns raising. Click. The safety of her weapon turning her off heralding that gentle noise, returned a moment later by Jameson’s own weapon. Nice and simple...
She could not have been more wrong.
A dull boom reverberated throughout the building, plaster quivering as dust dislodged and eddied down from the suddenly unstable looking ceilings. Barely a half moment later, her radio came aflame with a deafening screech as strike-one’s front man yelled into his microphone, barely discernible amidst the static. One word stuck out. Ambush.
A cylinder arced through the open stairwell doorway, the surface slightly ridged as the soft tap of it striking the floor heralded the oncoming bang! as white light flooded the room. Stars jumped in Uly’s vision as an involuntary cry of pain escaped her lips, needles stabbing at her retinas as she blinked away the blindness. As the ringing in her ears resolved, the deafening crackle of gunfire exploded around her, plaster and brick showering down as bullets tore into the flimsy structure. To her right, she heard a response of gunshots from Jameson, apparently having fared better as a result of the flash than she had.
Enough.
Pivoting around the side of her flimsy cover while keeping her torso side on to reduce her profile, Uly lifted her rifle and fired two short bursts at the doorway before pulling back. One of the gunmen went down in a puff of crimson mist, his cry adding to the cacophony of the small office space. Moments later, the world exploded into the whipcracks of whistling bullets as the other gunmen replied. Involuntarily Uly curled down, her back against one of the building’s supportive pillars while the office’s open windows exploded into millions of crystal shards in front of her.
“Cover, Jameson! Now!” She yelled into her microphone, jerking as a bullet tore a chunk of plaster and brick from the pillar near her head, “Gah, fuck!”
“Now!” Came Jameson’s reply. Trusting him with her life, she waited barely a second after he opened covering fire before peeking out on the opposite side of her pillar, emptying the remainder of her magazine at the doorway and the remaining two gunmen - the third likely having gone down to Jameson’s shots. One went down with a barely perceptible grunt, the other forced to duck back into the stairwell.
“One down!” She yelled, dropping back behind her cover as her empty magazine clattered to the floor, replaced moments later by a fresh magazine from her vest before she pulled back the primer with a satisfying click.
“Control, three contacts down, one escaping into the stairwell. Unsafe to pursue.”
“Copy, strike-two. Regroup. Strike-three is one floor above and have injured, await call to attend. Over.”
“Solid copy. Over.” Replied Jameson, his voice sounding shaken over the crackly radio line. Keeping her rifle on the door, Uly went through her checks almost unconsciously. Adrenaline had a funny way of masking even the most painful of gunshot wounds. Satisfied that she hadn’t been shot, she did another brief scan of the room. Another voice crackled over the radio as she was approaching the doorway to push it shut, carefully stepping over the limp forms of the gunmen after looking for breathing or signs of life.
“Uh, control. Requesting confirmation of friendly recon asset in the adjacent building, over?”
“Wh- negative, strike-three. That’s not one of ours.”
Crash!
Uly’s head whipped around just as the glass behind Jameson ruptured into a downpour of glittering fragments seemingly at random. “Jameson!” She cried out, protocol forgotten as she broke into a run. Like a flower, crimson blossomed from a small patch in the centre of his chest, spreading outwards. The frozen look of surprise on his face as he crumpled made her world spin, bile rising at the back of her throat as she slid to a stop beside his prone form, pressing down on the wound. His blood pulsed around her hands, unrelenting. Warm.
Slowing.
In the distance she was dimly aware of a hail of gunfire as various units returned fire from other floors in the building. Her entire world narrowed to that single point of pressure, however. The man’s bright green eyes locked on her own with a ferocity she was oh so familiar with. “Uly...” He rasped, a speck of crimson blood, far too bright, slowly sliding down from the corner of his mouth.
“I-I’m here, James... I’m here... Stay with me, you hear? Stay with me. You’re gonna be fine.. Alright? James? James!” Her voice rising to fever pitch as she shook him by his vest.
“Uly...” He whispered, though his lips weren’t moving. Eyes fluttering shut.
“Please, James... please...”
“Uly...”
“Ulysses...”
“Princess!”
The world snapped into focus, entire body jerking awake as the memory fluttered away, just out of reach. The memory was familiar and often plagued her dreams. No matter what she did, it always ended the same way. My fault.
“We’re here, Princess.” Came the responding bass of the family manservant, an ageing man who always held that dull look of disapproval whenever regarding her.
A full minute later, she stepped from the plane, hands in the pockets of her jeans as those glittering hazel eyes scanned the Athens skyline. Just another battle.
