Two Can Play At This Game
By Blaklite
To make things clear, anything written in italics between quotation marks denotes that the characters are speaking in French to each other (during flashbacks, this type of speech will be normal while the surrounding text is in italics). Everything written in French is translated at the bottom, and anything written in italics but not between quotation marks is a thought.
An asterisk (*) that has been placed beside a word or sentence means that there is information on it at the bottom of the page, since I do not expect everyone to be so knowledgeable on the subject as I am and I wish to save everyone those extra thirty seconds (gods forbid!) that it will take to go on Wikipedia and find out what the hell I'm talking about.
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The October Crisis:
A controversial event in Canadian history, the October Crisis refers to the events of October to December of 1970 in which FLQ (Front de libération du Québec) members kidnapped British Trade Commissioner James Cross and the Minister of Labour and Immigration of Québec Pierre Laporte. In their Manifesto, the terrorists outlined their desire for a "free Québec", mainly a freedom of the workers from oppression by the rich, both inside and outside of Québec. They believe that Québec should have its own sovereignty which would allow for the preservation of the French-Canadian way of life. They also demanded the release of captured members of the FLQ.
At the request of Québec Premier Robert Bourassa and the Mayor of Québec Jean Drapeau, Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau convinced Parliament to put into effect the War Measures Act, which allowed Canadian troops to be deployed in Québec and suspended the civil rights of all Canadians, giving the police the power to arrest anyone even suspected of supporting the FLQ. During this time, 89% of Canadians and 86% of Quebeckers agree with the use of the War Measures Act. By the end of the Crisis, most of the citizens of Québec are put off by the use of violence to achieve sovereignty and work towards a political means of achieving this goal.
On October 17, Pierre Laporte is murdered, his body found in the trunk of a car. On November 6, the police raid the hiding place of the Chénier Cell, responsible for the kidnapping and murder of Laporte, but only one of the four members is captured.
November 30: The October Crisis is nearing the end…
"There you are, my sweet."
He murmured under his breath though there was no need. He was alone in his office at Parliament, the heart of his country. After twenty minutes of scouring the map of Québec*, he had finally found her. Usually he had but to close his eyes and concentrate, and he could sense the presence of any one of his children immediately. She must have been holding out as far away from the ground as she could get. So his precious daughter wanted to play hide-and-go-seek, did she?
"Well, ready or not, here I come."
Matthew got up from his seat to look out the window. Just across that river* was the province that was giving him such a headache, the daughter who had really never stopped giving him a headache since the beginning of her existence. He had been tolerant in the past, but this time she had taken things too far.
Moving away from the window, he reached for his winter coat and thought better of it. Instead, he opted for his old military uniform. It was time to give his Fleur* a serious scolding.
He walked through the halls of the great building and out the front doors, his oddly small polar bear Kumajirou following behind him. He shook his head when he saw the tanks sitting on the front lawn again, but smiled and continued on past the gates. No one asked questions, they just let him through. They knew without fully knowing why that this person was no mere man.
On the street, he turned heads, but not because of his unusual style of clothing in this day and age. No, the humans could sense his power, and for once he wasn't invisible. The eyes of the world were upon him, wondering what was going to happen to the young northern country.
At first, he hadn't been sure himself. It seemed quite possible that an insurrection would arise and tear apart the country. But that hadn't happened, it was now November 30th, and if anything he felt stronger than he had in decades, despite the still healing wounds on his body. They were small, scratches really. His Fleur would be much more heavily injured. A province had nowhere near the same amount of power and stamina as a whole country, though they did contribute greatly to that power. He almost felt bad for a second, but bounced back as he recalled that most of her injuries were self-inflicted. It was generally wiser to bomb places outside of your own territory*.
After some time, he reached the field where he had asked a helicopter to be waiting just for him. The pilot started up the machine as he neared.
As he began to climb inside, he felt a tug at his pants and looked down at his bear. Had he followed him all this way?
"Sorry, Kumawari, not this time."
"Kumajirou," was the bear's reply.
"Right, well, I'll be back in a bit. If you get hungry, just get Mr. Trudeau to feed you." He patted the bear's fluffy head and stepped into the aircraft.
Putting on his headset and giving the pilot directions, the two set off east, the sun making its way towards the edge of the earth behind them.
He stood in front of the five storey building he knew his daughter was hiding in. She would undoubtedly be on the top floor, believing she was safe so far off the ground. Oh how she was wrong. Shifting the C2A1* on his back into a more comfortable position and checking that the knife at his hip was still there, he began the trek which would take him to the top floor.
It was an older building which once probably housed many families in the multitudinous rooms but was now deserted and slightly unstable. The stairs creaked here and there, but otherwise all was quiet. He should have encountered a guard or booby trap or something by now. Didn't they care about their province? Wasn't that what they were kidnapping and murdering for? Her 'liberation'?
Perhaps she was so cocky that she believed she could take him on by herself. Then again, perhaps she cared enough for her 'freedom fighters' that she had ordered them not to stick around, knowing Matthew could easily kill them with his bare hands and that he would survive any trap laid out for him, no matter how much damage was done. Still, a well placed bomb likely would have given her enough time to escape. Perhaps she had finally given in to the inevitable.
He reached the top floor and didn't even bother to knock before he turned the knob and pushed it open. She hadn't even bothered to lock it. Suddenly he felt quite bored, and more than a little disappointed with his second eldest daughter*.
The only light in the room came from the sun setting far beyond the mostly intact window panes. The room was lightly furnished, enough to make it livable but not exactly the most comfortable. He hadn't even needed to draw his gun since no one was in the room that he could see. Matthew chuckled; his little girl still wanted to play.
Stepping into the dilapidated room, boots thumping softly on the worn wood flooring, he called out, "Ma petite Fleur, où caches-tu?"
No response. Good. It would have been too easy if she had simply given away her location. Then again, he didn't even need to try and find her presence; fear was emanating off her in waves. And it was coming from the room to the right.
Walking around the what he assumed had once been a comfortable, not to mention blue, couch, Matthew confidently sauntered up to the slightly ajar door of the adjoining room. He pushed it open gently as he walked through, the hinges letting out a long screech from years of rust build-up. From the diminishing light he could see a dresser, a bed, two nightstands, and a desk, but no Fleur. He was about to turn around when he heard a click.
"Bienvenue, Papa." Despite the venom with which she spoke, he could still detect fright behind her words.
"Bonjour, ma belle. Tout va bien j'espère?"
She hissed. Canada felt himself being turned around before he suddenly also felt the muzzle of a shotgun barrel under his chin. He couldn't help but smile proudly.
"Are you really going to shoot me, dear?" he asked. This caused her to pause, to drop her guard for even a second. It was all Matthew needed. Grabbing the shotgun and throwing it across the room and therefore out of reach, he slid behind Fleur, wrapping his arm around her waist to hold her fast, and pulled out the C2A1, firing a round into her right foot. Her scream was instantaneous.
"You can't hesitate, Fleur. If I was anyone but your father, you'd probably be dead by now."
It was key that he kept his voice level and calm. He was here to reprimand his daughter, after all. This time she would learn. Even if she didn't, she would become the example to her siblings of what happens when you try to disobey Papa. In a way, she would also be his message to the world that he was to be taken seriously.
Her scream cut off suddenly. She was trying to be brave, to show that she was strong and that she had no need for him anymore. And yet, if it wasn't for his arm keeping her in place she would have collapsed to the floor. Matthew couldn't help but admire her spirit.
"Come, let's bandage this foot."
Though a pool of blood had already started to collect on the floor, surrounding her foot in a crimson puddle, she wouldn't die from her wound. She wasn't a country but even the children of nations were notoriously difficult to kill. Perhaps his parental instincts were kicking in.
He was about to pick her up (she wouldn't get too far too fast with that foot) to place her on the bed when she shoved him away.
"Je n'ai pas besoin de ton aide," she retorted, though each shaky step nearly brought her to her knees. In the end, Matthew helped her limp to the edge of the bed where she sat and he knelt to slip off her boot and sock to examine her foot, propping it up on his knee. A clean shot; the bullet had gone straight through, all the bones were still intact, and there was no major damage. He pulled out a roll of bandages from one of the pockets inside his coat and started to wrap up the wound.
"Why are you doing all this? I thought you came here to teach me a lesson in obedience."
"You're being obedient right now, aren't you?"
"Only because I wouldn't get far with an injured foot." He sneered. "You bastard!"
"You would've run away if I hadn't. Besides, I'm getting tired of playing hide-and-go-seek." Cutting the gauze with his knife, Canada tied off the bandage. The bleeding had slowed significantly, a testament to the healing abilities to their kind. He lowered her foot and propped his arm on his raised knee before looking up at her. "C'est mieux?"
She nodded, and a few stray strands of hair fell from her ponytail. She had his blond, wavy hair (though hers was much longer) but her grandfather's blue eyes, whereas his own were violet. Canada had rarely ever seen her with her hair in a ponytail, and that's when he spotted the navy blue ribbon keeping her hair up…
Standing up and keeping his smile in place to mask his rage, he leaned over her and tugged on the ribbon. Her wavy hair cascaded around her as it did in all his memories of her. Leaning back, Matthew placed his free hand on her shoulder, causing her to flinch only slightly, while the other held up the incriminating fabric for her to see. Québec's face portrayed nothing, but her eyes revealed her fear.
"I see you've been spending time with grandpère, ma fille."
She looked down at the floor before answering. "I haven't seen hi-"
But her lie was cut off by a slap to the face. It took a few seconds for her body to register the pain. It had left her so shocked that she was frozen for a moment with her head to the side, her quickly reddening cheek exposed. Fleur turned her head slowly to look at her father, her eyes tearing up not only from the tingling sensation of the pain, but also terror. What she saw in his eyes gave her no hope. There was no emotion, just an endless, soul-freezing heartlessness. The grip on her shoulder had intensified and would surely leave a bruise in the morning, if she survived the night.
"Now, now, Fleur, lying is unbecoming. Don't you know it's not nice to lie to one's father?"
He had slowly begun to crush her wounded foot under his own booted one. Québec gritted her teeth as the bullet wound was re-opened and blood began to pour forth, staining the bandage anew.
"Let's try this again. You've been spending time with France. What, exactly, have you two been up to?"
"He…He came over a few days ago, to visit me."
"Well, it's a shame he didn't drop by Ottawa to see me. After what happened three years ago*, I was starting to think he was avoiding me."
"You threatened to cut his head off with a letter opener."
Ah, yes. Matthew remembered that day well…
"I will not repudiate my president's words," declared Francis, his expression completely serious. He had ventured to Ottawa without Président de Gaulle in order to spend some extra time with Matthew before it was all politics again. He had been relaxing in his hotel room when news was brought to him of the speech his president had presented to the crowds of Montréal. Soon after, Canada personally called him to invite him to his office at Parliament where he was asked to denounce de Gaulle's speech.
"So you are conspiring against me afterall…"
"I never said that. Mon fils, écoute-moi-"
"No, Francis, it is you who must listen. You and your president have threatened my national security by supporting Québec separatist ideas. Either you must renounce those words, or leave Canadian soil."
Francis had to admit, it was rather intimidating finding oneself under that violet gaze. He hadn't known Matthieu, his Matthieu, could harbour such cold wrath against anyone. Then again, he had heard stories of his and his soldiers' ferocity during both World Wars. To this day, Germany tended not to look the Canadian directly in the eye, when he noticed the shy boy that was.
But France was France, and he was also Matthew's father. Someone had to tell him straight.
"Matthieu, you cannot keep repressing the people of Québec this way. Your daughter's people deserve to be able to protect their culture."
"I think you're forgetting, Papa, that Québec's people are also MY people. I do not wish for them to lose any part of themselves anymore than you do."
"Don't be a fool, Matthieu," he exclaimed, advancing towards the other's desk. This, at last, exacted an emotionally driven response from the other as Matthew stood up, clutching a letter opener in his right hand.
"I will give you twenty-four hours to leave my lands. Should you remain within the border any longer than that, I WILL come after you and make it my personal business to see that your head is removed from your shoulders."
"Matthieu-"
"LEAVE, FRANCIS!"
The letter opener barely missed the back of his head as he ran out of the office.
Canada chuckled as the memory ended. "He did leave pretty quickly after that though, didn't he?"
Fleur could only nod in agreement at the malevolent mirth her father was exhibiting.
"Now, back to what we were talking about." He pressed down a little harder on her foot, but Fleur just gritted her teeth, refusing to scream. "What were you two doing together exactly?"
Fleur hated herself for how easily he could get her to divulge information. But this was no time for her to be lying, not when any second could mean death. She wasn't entirely sure she would 'wake up' from it either like other nations could sometimes.
"He offered me asylum."
"And?"
"I declined."
"That's obvious dear, I meant what else?"
She made the mistake of glancing off to the side for a brief second. "Nothing else happened."
Oh, how that was a lie…
"Fleur, tu ne peux pas rester içi."
"I must, Francis. For my people, for the FLQ."
He had tried to convince her several times already, but she refused him every time. She was adamant about staying, even knowing what could befall her. Québec was truly faithful to the cause. She would die to be free, but Francis knew that wouldn't solve anything. They both knew that everything would be over soon, and there would be no freedom to gain by the end of it.
"If I cannot convince you to leave, than at least let me protect you."
"You KNOW that if you do, it could very well start a war."
"That's not the kind of protection I'm offering."
She turned around to face him, utterly perplexed. What the hell was he getting at?
"I don't understand."
"Fleur, have you ever…had sex with another nation?"
"Kind of a personal question, isn't that Francis?"
"Please answer it." His voice was serious, his face concerned.
"I suppose, a few times with New Brunswick*. Why?"
At this, he paused to think. She waited for him to answer, remaining by the window which revealed the passing grey clouds. Finally, he stood up and grasped her hands gently.
"It's very different with full-fledged nations, Fleur. It can mean a lot of things, and it is often a way of claiming another territory. I can protect you, keep your future open to rebellion once more but…there is a price to pay."
She looked down for a moment before looking back up at him with tears in her eyes.
"You're not implying that Papa would do such a thing just to…would he?"
"Other nations have done much worse to each other."
Québec almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. She didn't want to believe that her father would ever even think of doing something like that to her. But after everything that had happened so far, it wasn't so impossible to imagine.
More than anything, she wanted her freedom. If this was her only choice then so be it.
She looked him dead in the eye and nodded. Hugging her fiercely, he whisper in her ear, voice filled with sadness and regret.
"Pardonne-moi que je dois faire."
Suddenly, she felt all pressure leave her injured foot.
"You're lying, ma belle."
The tone of voice in which he said those four words was all it took to trigger Fleur's fight-or-flight instincts. Her mind was wiped blank, caught as only a spectator as her body moved of its own accord. Launching herself off the edge of the bed, Fleur's knee came up to collide with her father's stomach just as her skull cracked against his. The propulsion was enough to keep her going through the motion, allowing her to shift into a standing position just as Matthew fell back, landing more or less on his side, momentarily stunned.
Before she could contemplate how deep her treason was, Québec was running.
Groaning, Matthew listened to her receding footsteps as he propped himself up on the arm he had fallen on. Nothing was broken or dislocated, everything just hurt like a bitch. Touching lightly at his forehead, his fingers came back glistening with blood.
Canada could not but grin at the red coating his fingertips. His daughter wanted to play after all.
Merrily, and with his C2A1 loaded and at the ready, Canada skipped through the halls and rooms of the broken down apartment building.
Meanwhile, not so far away, Fleur was loading a stolen nine mil* when she heard the last thing she would have expected to hear in that situation.
"Marco!"
Oh God, now her father had gone screwy. Québec wasn't exactly sure whether that would work in her favour or not. It was after his third call that he revealed the method behind his madness.
"Marco~! Come, Fleur, don't you want to play with Papa?"
So he thought it was a game, did he? She would play, oh yes, she would, and prove once and for all that the province of Québec was to be taken seriously.
Stashing the pistol in her sweater, Fleur reached for the larger gun beside her and walked out into the hallway.
"There you…are."
Matthew's good cheer faded when he noticed the Sten Mk II* submachine gun she had pointing directly at him. The look on his face was priceless and Fleur couldn't help but grin as she responded, "Polo."
Lucky for him, Matthew had stopped right beside an open doorway, the actual door part long gone. He dashed through into the room, bullets whizzing behind him. For a moment he believed he was safe, only to nearly have his ear shot off as a few bullets ripped through the structurally insecure walls.
Well, fuck, now he was on the run. At least the game was getting interesting now.
Walking slowly into the room her father had escaped into, Fleur glanced around and spotted a distinct lack of Canadian. There were bullet holes in the left wall but no blood on the floor, meaning that it was likely she hadn't hit him. With the utmost caution of an animal that wasn't sure whether it was the hunter or the hunted, Fleur crept into the adjoining room.
Again, no Canada. And now there were two choices of doorways to go through. She cursed, and suddenly a brilliant idea hit her. They were still playing the game.
"Mother, may I take five steps towards the left-hand door?"
"No, but you can take six steps towards the door in front of you."
The acoustics of the run-down building made it so that she couldn't exactly detect where his voice was coming from. She had to rely on his directions after all. Then again, it was starting to get fun…
Carefully, she made her way into the next room, a kitchen with a fridge but no oven. The light bulb had broken long ago, pieces of glass scattered across the tiles underneath the fixture. A table and two chairs rested against the opposite wall from the counters.
Time to change the game.
"What time is it, Mr. Wolf?"
"Six 'o' clock."
He sounded close that was certain. But her mind wouldn't rule out the thought that he was luring her into a trap. Taking the six steps, she found herself just in front of the next door. Following the rules of the game, she called again.
"What time is it, Mr. Wolf?"
Fleur hadn't noticed the fridge door open behind her.
"Lunch time."
Québec knew she wouldn't have enough time to turn around so instead she ducked and tried to take out his legs in one swoop of her leg. This only resulted in a quick boot to the face, sending her sprawling on the floor, but not before she was able to pull out the pistol. A resounding BANG echoed and Matthew was sent stumbling back, giving Fleur enough time to retreat, crying, "Tag! You're 'it'!"
The nine mil bullet had dug out a nice tract of flesh from his shoulder but otherwise left him unscathed. Matthew began to wonder whether Québec meant to hurt him at all. Perhaps he was just lucky. Either way, it was time to step up the game.
Poking his head through the doorway she had run through, he saw no trace of her in the hallway. It was quite a long hall, possibly spanning the length of the building, with many doors leading from it. Most of the brass numbers had fallen off, or had been taken off, leaving but a dark stain on the already decaying doors.
Seeing as he was fairly well in the middle of the hallway, Matthew was a little unsure of which direction he should go. Fleur had left no signs that he could pick out, and there were no sounds to be heard. She was plotting something, he was sure of it. There was no way she'd run now.
"Green light!' he called, attempting to gather some kind of hint or clue as to her whereabouts. He was alerted by the sound of footsteps to his right.
"Red light!" and the footsteps stopped. Canada moved down a couple doors before yelling out again. "Green light!"
This time the pitter patter of feet sounded below him. Que fait-tu, ma fille?
"Red light!" Silence once more. Matthew was starting to grow a little nervous. She hadn't attacked yet, that wasn't good. It meant she was planning something big.
It was time to get down to the bottom of things.
"Simon says, come out, come out, wherever you are." And she did, at the end of the hallway he was headed towards. She looked too smug for his tastes.
"Red rover, red rover, I call Canada over!" she shouted with a smile. He shot her a glare. This would not end well, but still he had to comply with the rules. And so he ran, reaching into his coat for a second nine mil as he did.
He would never have gotten a chance to use it, even if he had pulled it out in time.
"Grounder!"
Fuck, he hadn't noticed the detonator in her hand.
He dug his heel into the wood to slow his momentum, but that did nothing to keep the floor around him from giving out. Before he could leap out of the way, Matthew found himself tumbling down through the floor of the fifth level.
Québec watched on with a satisfied smile on her lips as her father fell, grinning widely as she heard the final crash. Stepping closer to get a better look, her view was obstructed by the cloud of dust that seemed to have swallowed the hallway beneath. Cautiously, Fleur leaned over the edge of the hole, trying to get a glimpse of her father.
The dust was slowly clearing, but still there was no sign of the blond nation. Instead, a dark, round shape appeared out of the ruin below that was coming straight at her. Instinctively, she caught the oval object. It was a grenade, and the pin had been pulled.
"Merde!" Tossing the device behind her, Fleur barely managed to jump through the hole before the thing exploded, causing massive damage on the top storey. That would be the first, and last, time she ever played hot potato with explosives.
Suddenly, a hand reached out and grabbed her arm, tossing her against the wall before she could come to her proper sense.
A second later, sharp pain lanced through her left hand and shot up through her arm. Her scream was cut short by the hand that came up to grasp her throat while her last good arm was pinned above her head.
"Game over, Fleur. Looks like I win." Desperately, she struggled, but it was no use. She couldn't move her left arm lest the knife that pinned her hand to the wall rip her wound open any further. Fear bubbled up inside her as she had never felt before. She couldn't look up at him, afraid of what she would see in his eyes. Tears threatened to spill, but she bit them back. C'est tout fini…
"Let's play one more game, shall we?"
She was caught somewhere between panic and relief as the hand around her throat was removed and the pressure that had been slowly crushing her windpipe dissipated. Fleur closed her eyes for the briefest moment, hoping for a swift end to this nightmare. The sound of a spinning revolver cylinder was the only answer to her feeble prayers.
With wide eyes, she looked to the gun. It was her father's old Enfield Mk II Revolver* from his North-West Mounted Police days. She closed her eyes again. Despite its age, there was no way the gun would jam at a critical moment. Matthew took better care of it than his own children sometimes.
"I'm sure you're familiar with this game, Fleur. It's one your Russian friends* like to play."
Time seemed to slow down as Fleur first felt her good wrist being let go of, followed by the sound of two retreating steps, and finally the feeling of cold metal being brought to rest against her forehead. She briefly considered taking the chance and running, but she knew it was impossible; her legs had already frozen in place, frozen in fear. Surprisingly, her acceptance of fear is exactly what also drew some of it away, allowing her to open her eyes with deliberate calm.
The revolver took up most of her vision, but behind it she could just catch glimpses of her father. She was confused by what she saw in his eyes. Not anger, or insanity, or even the pride of knowing you've one. Just…nothingness. Or was there?
"Three questions, three strikes. First, where is James Cross?"
Québec took a shaky breath before answering. "Je sais pas."
The gun pressed harder into her skin.
"Where are the missing members of the Chénier Cell?"
"Je sais pas!" She honestly didn't know the answers to these questions. Members came to her instead of her going to them, for exactly this reason.
Her eyes were fixed on the trigger of the gun now. But had she been looking at her father, perhaps the next question wouldn't have surprised her so much, nor the quiet tone with which the question was asked.
"Why do you hate me so much?"
Fleur could do nothing, but stare dumbfounded at her papa. His eyes, previously empty, were now filled with a mix of emotions she could not name. But the way in which he said such words revealed one thing: sadness, even regret. She knew she had to say something, anything, but her words died before she could even open her mouth.
With downcast eyes and a resigned smile, Matthew lowered the gun. He looked at it longingly for a second, stirring some panic in Fleur's chest. She was shocked when it finally clicked in that he had tossed it to her, and she had caught it in her good hand. Her eyes widened a bit as she took in the sight of it in her palm. He…he never trusts anyone with this gun.
Confused, Québec looked up to see her father heading towards the stairwell. It was over, just like that, though she couldn't tell which side had won. Perhaps, they both had.
"Papa."
He stopped in the doorway and looked back. He looked older somehow, older than the man that had walked into the building not even an hour ago. Fleur wondered if she looked older too.
"Thanks, for not sending my English freak of a brother after me. He's been dying for the chance to beat in my skull for decades now."
Canada smirked at this. "I'll give Joshua* your regards. And Fleur." His smile became genuine. "Je suis si fièr de toi."
Fleur smiled and looked down to the gun as she heard his footsteps recede. How close had she been to death?
Oh, what the heck, she thought as she popped open the cylinder. She had expected the bullet to be the first shot, the last shot, and any shot in between really. What she didn't expect was for the gun to be empty. Matthew had never intended to kill her at all.
She winced as she pulled out the knife and freed her injured hand. Okay, maybe he wasn't such the saint after all.
-{ * }-
Notes:
Québec: Why is Québec spelled with a funny tic over the first 'e'? Well, that's because that's how you spell Québec in French. And since Québec is French, that's how you should spell it.
Ottawa River: The Ottawa River provides a natural border between Ontario and Québec along the southern half of the border. It also separates the city of Ottawa (Ontario) from the city of Gatineau (Québec).
Fleur: Means 'flower' in French. I got the idea from the fleur-de-lis, which appears on the Québec flag. Not necessarily the most original, but appropriate nonetheless.
FLQ bombings: The FLQ successfully bombed several areas, the most famous being the bombing of the Montréal Stock Exchange. They were never intended to kill anyone though three people did die from the bombings on accident. One of their more infamous bombing techniques was to place bombs in mailboxes.
FN FAL: Used in Canada under the name C2A1, the FAL was a battle rifle developed by the Belgium manufacturer Fabrique Nationale de Herstal. It was a popular weapon during the Cold War era, but many countries have since moved on to other guns. It is likely that this would have been the main weapon of the armed forces which entered Québec after the War Measures Act was put into effect. On a side note, the FN FAL has been nicknamed the "right arm of the Free World."
Age of Québec: Using the voyages of John Cabot and Jacques Cartier, I have thus created the birth order of the following provinces, starting with the oldest: Newfoundland and Labrador, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, and finally Québec. I consider Nova Scotia to be female therefore she is the eldest daughter. The remaining three provinces are male, in my opinion.
Vive le Québec libre!: On July 24, 1967, General Charles de Gaulle, president of France, made an unexpected speech at Montréal City Hall. At the end of his speech, he proclaimed, "Vive le Québec libre!", meaning 'Long live free Québec!'. The next day, he left Canada without ever having set foot in Ottawa as diplomatic protocol commands. As one can imagine, this highly damaged ties between the two countries. The line later became the slogan of the FLQ.
New Brunswick: N.B. is the only legally bilingual province in Canada. Many people there are the proud ancestors of the Acadians, original French settlers of the East Coast. My experience of New Brunswick for the brief time I was there is that French is the preferred language of communication. Many Canadians believe that should Québec ever successfully become independent, there is a chance New Brunswick will have a referendum which will legally make them part of Québec.
Browning Hi-Power: Also called the nine mil in Canada, the Browning Hi-Power is a 9mm semi-automatic handgun.
Sten Mk II (Canadian): The Sten was originally a British submachine gun developed during WWII. The Canadian model is of higher quality, and is also bigger. *Quick Side Fact* Over the course of my limited research on the subject of firearms, I've discovered that oftentimes the Canadian versions of firearms tend to be bigger and, therefore, heavier. I'm not exactly sure why this is, but I'm assuming it may have something to do with causing more damage. Or just to look cooler. Either one works.
Enfield Mk II Revolver: The official sidearm of the British Empire dating back to 1880. Mk Is and IIs were used up until WWII, during which time they were replaced by Enfield No. 2 Mk I revolvers. The Mk Is and IIs have become outdated, but it is still possible to buy and own a No. 2 Mk I in Canada.
Russian Friends: It is (for the most part) known that the KGB had connected with the FLQ. It is unknown if the KGB had provided any direct aid for the FLQ. After the October Crisis was over, the KGB planted false information that pointed to CIA involvement with the FLQ, which strained relations for a bit between Trudeau and Nixon.
Joshua: The name I gave Ontario. Relations between Ontario and Québec have never been the smoothest, let's just say that.
Translations
Bienvenue, Papa – "Welcome, Dad", in French, bienvenue is a formal hello
Bonjour, ma belle. Tout va bien j'espère? – "Hi, beautiful. Everything is well, I hope?", ma belle is an endearing term for a daughter
Je n'ai pas besoin de ton aide – "I don't need your help"
C'est mieux? – "Better?"
Grandpère – "grandfather"
Ma fille – "my daughter"
Mon fils, écoute-moi – "My son, listen to me"
Fleur, tu ne peux pas rester içi – "Fleur, you can't stay here"
Pardonne-moi que je dois faire –"Forgive me what I must do"
Que fait-tu, ma fille? – "What are you up to, my girl?"
Merde! – Shit!
C'est tout fini… – "It's all finished…" or "This is the end…"
Je sais pas – "I don't know", informal
Je suis si fièr de toi – "I'm so proud of you"
A Note From Blaklite: If you have actually made it this far by reading the entire story, you deserve an unlimited supply of your favourite dessert. And a flying car, a cool one, with neon lights and chrome rims.