Original Fiction Viva el Rey de España (Spanish SI)

[VictortheMonarch]

24/09/1888
Bellas Vistas, Madrid

When I had died, I expected to wake up in front of pearly gates, or in front of a burning hellscape. What I had not expected was to find myself staring at the decorated walls of the Royal Palace of Madrid.

I remember it as if it was Yesterday, as it was the day my ‘new’ mother had died, and I was welcomed into this world. My mother, Queen María, died on Oct. 26, 1879. My father said that the doctors were surprised I had lived, seeing as my mother had been struggling with Typhoid Fever on and off ever since marrying my father, King Alfonso XII.

Of course my father remarried on the first of July 1880… just barely two months after my mothers death. Of course it was expected of him to remarry, just not as quickly as he did! I couldn’t blame father, he was expected to, but I instead blame that whore, Maria Christina.

My ‘step-mother’ was a solid bitch. She had apparently been a guest to my mothers funeral, and hadn’t spent long trying to woo my father. I’ve even heard from some of the maids that she slept with him a month after my mothers death. Either way, she had wormed her way into my fathers heart.

She was ignorant of me during my younger years. More than likely because of my fathers presence, but that hadn’t stopped her from turning the nose to me. It was only after my father’s death in 1887 that things took a darker turn.

While a hand hadn’t been raised, rumors began to spread. And a whole five months after my fathers death, my mother went to the Cortes with a ‘last will’ that was suddenly ‘found’ in his office. In this will my younger brother Alfonso was named my fathers successor, and I was to be fostered out of Spain. I was as the ‘will’ stated, disinherited from the House of Bourbon.

It hadn’t taken long for me to be tossed to the curb. I originally was supposed to go and live with some wealthy family in León, but instead found myself fending off the cold in an alleyway in Madrid.

I missed my father, even that ugly beard that he called ‘Spain’s finest’... more importantly, I miss the lifestyle of being a royal. Oh sure, I had lived in a poor household at one point in my previous life, but I had died somewhat wealthy and eight long years of having everything I ever wanted given to me at a momentary glance. I was not ready to be dropped from the top of the world to the lowest of trash. The first thing to happen to me was having my clothes stolen from me, as well as my only painting of my father that I had in a pocket watch.

I had slowly gotten back on my feet, getting clothes within a week of running around in rags, I even got myself a wooden crate I used as a home, with some straw as a bed. I could get food rather easily, as all I needed to do was pick some poor fool's pocket and a loaf of bread was but a moment away! Oh sure I had nearly been caught on several occasions, but I had always escaped. There was a reason some of the locals called me ‘el pié rápido’! The police couldn’t catch me, and if they happened to be on horseback, there were always places they couldn’t fit through.

“Charles.” I heard to my left. Ramirez was a friend, an older gentlemen who gave me the box I live in. He was a Peninsular War Veteran, and owned a fruit shop. When I say that Ramirez is old, I mean that he is old. Man is 96 years old to be precise, in other words ancient compared to the average spaniard. “Do you mind if I have an Apple Ramirez? I promise to pay you back.” I asked, and Ramirez shook his head. “Why sure. Get me a céntimo and it’s yours.” he said, and I smiled back, handing him one. “Just one?” I asked, and he shook his head. “Yes. I don’t need that money as much as you do.” I nodded, and left his story munching on an apple.

It was good that he only wanted one céntimo, as I only have about four left. If I need to I can break into my stash, but I’m saving that up, fifty more real and i might even be able to get a ticket out of Spain. Perhaps I could go back to America? I know Tennessee wasn’t the best place, but Sharecropping couldn’t be the worst experience.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see a carriage rolling down the way. It was an open one, and its occupants seem to be a wealthy family. There was really only three occupants, an elder gentlemen, with a nice beard, one that even I could envy, a younger man, clean shaven and with blonde hair, and a plain looking woman, who was studded in a beautiful dress, one that could even make that bitch jealous.

Suddenly the carriage stopped in front of a rather pleasant looking building. One obviously made for the wealthy. I’m sure that woman wouldn’t be remiss if she were to lose her handbag. Carefully I draw near, looking as normal as I could be on the street. Whistling the Marcha Real, I near closer to them with each step, watching them.

Steadily as I get closer the woman is open. It doesn’t take long before with both hands I grab the purse, and take off. The woman tried to pull it back, but it was too late, and it slipped off her arm rather easily. It didn’t take long before I had rounded the corner, dodged into an alley, and hid behind some crates. After a few moments, I heaved a sigh of relief.

I had thought that the younger blonde gentleman would at least take off after me, but after two minutes of waiting, he did not come into my sight, so I decided to look through my purchase.

There were some papers written in French, a few… cigars, a thirty reals, featuring my infant brother and some jewelry. It is the perfect thing to sell. Some of this stuff could go for a couple hundred reals! America, here I come.

As I walk out of the Alleyway, I put the purse in my knapsack, and start walking towards the closest shop. I’m sure I could probably sell this stuff to a pawn, and have just enough to get my ticket to New York, but I am a greedy bastard. The more cash I have on hand, the better my chances of getting out of that danger pin are. Suddenly a hand comes to my shoulder, and I halt. “Excuse me, young man.” I hear in an accented voice. Whoever they were, they knew Spanish quite well. “I would like it if you could return my wife's bag.” He said. I’m sure that I could get away from him, but the man’s grip was solid, I don’t think escape is an option.

I reached into my sack and handed it to him. “You aren’t going to call the Civil Guard are you?” The man shook his head, looking through the bag. “No, not unless you give me reason to. Say, my boy, what is your name?” “Javier, Javier Tramistre” I say, not batting an eye.

“Come now boy, I can spot a lie. Your real name.” He said. I move to escape, but his hand holds me in place. “Your name?” He says, looking down at me. “Charles… it’s Charles.” I said, looking him in the eyes. “Just… Charles?” He asked, his grip getting tighter. “I’m sure you’ve a last name, boy.” He said, glaring at me.

“I don’t have one, I’ve apparently been disinherited.” I said, looking around for a distraction. “Disinherited? From what family?” He asked. Looking around there wasn’t much, not unless I kicked him in the balls, but then he very well may turn me into the guard. “Borbón… My father apparently disowned me on his deathbed to leave way for his second son to take the throne. I was tossed to the side.” I said. Of course I knew my father would never disinherit me, but this is the public truth of it at least.

“Bourbon…” the man said. “Un autre parent éloigné…” he said with a sigh. “Come now young Charles, you will be coming with me.” he said, and I think that was when I let the fear show on my face. “No, I will not be handing you to the guard. You are coming home with me.” He said, and all that I could ask was…”why?” He looked down at me, and rather calmly said what wasn’t obvious “I’m related to you. Rather distant, but still related.”

“Who are you?” I asked, and all that I gout was a simple but firm answer. “I am Prince Louis Philippe Albert, of the royal house of Orleans, and I am taking you in as a part of my family.”

___

Yes, he is going to be king of Spain, as is obvious with the title. There’s going to be rather roughly, ten or so chapters in England for young Charles. I plan to have him be a mediator between political parties, and to push for progress. Not rabid progress like some modern political parties strive for, but progress to what alot want.

And yes, this will indeed be a monarchy wank, bite me.

Some information as to who stars in this chapter!

Prince Philippe, Count of Paris Served in the American Civil War!

Alfonso XII and his first wife, Maria de las Mercedes, both die later than they usually do. Alfonso dies of tuberculosis and Maria dies in childbirth.

Queen Maria Christina was said to be a bit of a bitch, and looked after her children fiercely. Nothing got infront of her, or it risked being torn to shreds.

 

[VictortheMonarch]

04/10/1888
HMS Duke of Orleans,20 Nautical Miles of the coast of Great Britain

I still could not believe that I was here, on my way to England. If you had told me a month ago that I would be riding on a luxury Yacht on my way out of Spain, alongside a royal household, I would have called you mad, yet here I am.

We had only spent three days in Madrid before leaving the city, and it was a rather teary affair for me. I, Ramirez, and his family had a jovial, yet downhearted goodbye party. They were sad that I was leaving, but were happy that I had found a home. Ramirez himself was rather pleased with himself to ‘have met royalty’, even more so when I broke the truth that I myself was royalty. He had nearly comically passed out.

On our way to England, we stopped in Lisbon, where we met with the Portuguese royal family. I do remember going to Lisbon when Princess Amélie and Prince Carlos got hitched; my father had complained about the carriage ride over for being too bumpy. The food was rather nice, though the duck was horrible if I am being honest.

In other words, I got to talk to the Portuguese royals, who seemed to find it odd that my father had ‘disinherited’ me. They were rather pleasant people, I myself got into a hour long discussion with Carlos on politics. Carlos himself seemed to be rather well versed in politics, and seemed rather Centre if anything else. I myself tend to lean towards the left in current politics, but thats mostly due to the horrors of the era, child labor and the likes.

We even discussed science for a while, but we got off that topic rather quickly as everyone else in the room wasn’t as well versed in the subject. We departed Lisbon on rather decent terms, with King Luís even giving me a silver pocket watch.

Right now I was on the bow of the ‘Duke of Orleans’ staring out at the British Coast. It was rather beautiful from here, with the green coastline, towns and fisheries dotting the beaches… it was rather beautiful if I am to be honest. If I look far enough ahead I can see the mouth of the River Thames.

It’s all rather beautiful If I do say so myself. Truly though, I do wonder what my life in Britain will be like…



Javier Felipe Ordóñez

It had taken him thirty seven years, but he had done it. He had become the Premier of Peru. Oh sure, he wasn’t voted in, but wine could oh so poison the hearts of men. A drunken tumble down a flight of stairs had taken his old friend Nicolás de Piérola’s life, and now, He was at a height of power nearing what he had in his previous life. For you see, Javier was a reincarnated soul.

Originally he was a Mexican Cartel leader, leading the Japón family. HE Had taken over the entire country, and used his power to gain even more money, even funding a U.S President or two to ignore all the drugs crossing the border. It was no big deal, who cares for a bunch of ‘refugee’s’ looking for a home.

But then came that damned orange bastard. He sent a damned SEAL team after him. He had tried to escape, but both he and his entire government had been killed, or arrested. He himself died pitifully. Who cared if he accidentally blew up Houston, it wasn’t worth executing him like a rat in the dirt. And then he died, and expected there to be nothing.

Only, there was something. He hadn’t expected to find out that Jesus was real, just thought him to be an annoying name of a dead man, the name used to give children hope that they really weren't dirt beneath him. Jesus said that he forgave him, and would give him one last chance to earn his right into heaven. That If he could make Peru a better nation, then he would be able to see his mama and papa, and even his son Jaun when that lawyer brat died.

Who cares about any of those shits, all that matters was Javier, Javier, and Javier. He would get richer than he ever was, he would become the greatest of great! He would destroy America, and rule as the world dictator!

And so, on his twelfth birthday, he invented that sweet gold. He made Crack Cocaine, and he sold it everywhere. He was one of the richest in the nation at age twenty, and that was when he first made his bid to become president. He had attempted to take over Peru with force, but he was forced to flee after his troops abandoned him. And that was when he found the greatest tool there was. Communist.

Oh sure they weren’t the Communist of his timeline, they weren’t as… developed yet. They still believed that everyone deserved power. So, while exiled to England, he began to collect certain individuals that were easily manipulated. He made them believe in his Communist ideals, and it led to a schism. Some didn’t believe him, called him no better than one of those royals. But most joined him. And he led them back to Peru.

He had bribed a few politicians, namely president Lizardo Flores, and he and his compatriots were allowed back into Peru. These men were great, and would never desert him, at least not like the others did.

He went preaching ‘his’ ideology. And people listened. And that was when Nicolás came. Nicolás was a better speaker than he was, and he was also a former president, and a friend of Javier’s.

He had practically taken the Peruvian Communist to a new height. They followed where he went, trusted him, some even wanted to replace him as the leader of the party. And so, Javier let him, on the deal that he became the Vice Premier of the nation when they took over Peru. Nicolás said yes, and earned himself a longer life. It was the best thing Javier did. Nicolás was able to convert many Peruvians to the Communist party, so much so that it was expected of them to win the election. But they didn’t.

They were beaten by some bastard called Andrés Avelino Cáceres, who won by three points. That had angered Javier, and he formed a plan. He would not be stopped by anyone, and so he decided to step in, with Violence. He and Nicolás contested the election, and planted evidence of fraud, and with a few English guns, the Party controlled Peru. Andrés and his family were fed to Javier’s pet crocodiles, and all was well.

But Nicolás wanted to better the lives of the people, and learned the hard way that things were going to work very differently. Oh he would give him a mausoleum, perhaps a statue or two, but for now, he needed to work on spreading his ideology, and spreading his puppet strings, world wide.


Its not what I wanted for this chapter, but I don't have alot of time to work with here. As seen in this chapter, we are introduced to who will be a primary Antagonist, at least later down the line. For now, he's halfway across the world and will have to wait some time before he's strong enough to do anything. In the Next chapter, there will be talks of Peru, the Communist and the Marxist. expect plenty of talk on both sides of the political spectrum.

 

[VictortheMonarch]

06/26/1888
Stowe House,Buckinghamshire
United Kingdom

On many occasions since I arrived at Stowe House, have I noticed just how boring things are. I can't go on a run, as it's unseemly, I can't go out on my own, as it's too unsafe. It plainly sucks. It wasn't all bad, having maids was nice and while Philippe the elder was strict, he was a pleasant enough figure, Philippe the Younger had taken off, something about going off to India. Isabelle was nice herself, if a bit childish at times, she seemed to enjoy my company somewhat.

There were other Orleans here, but the one's I've seen the most and tend to interact with me were Phillipe the Elder, and Isabelle. Philippe mostly asked me all sorts of stuff, ranging from my interests, to what I know on subjects, typically on Politics, but occasionally onto Science and the sort. While I didn't know a whole lot about some subjects, I had my hobbies, though I hadn't had time to really enjoy them, as for much of my new life I was on the streets, or too young.

One of those Hobbies was guns. I loved them, from the loading to the kick, it was an experience everyone should have. And I asked for a gun. Phillipe was originally rather against the Idea, but after some promises and such, he bought me a rifle.

It was a Martini-Henry rifle, which was a lever action, and boy was it a pain in the ass. Oh sure it was nice and all, but it was a lever action. Which was… nice, I guess. But it was rather inaccurate. Not only that, but it was a single-shot rifle, and took fucking forever to fire.

You would have to stop and reload, and as a child that was a hassle, seeing as to avoid a rather painful kick I had to shoot it lying down, and with the lever action and all that, I tend to get dirt in the barrel, and sometimes it jams on me, which led to me accidentally getting my thumb stuck in the barrel, felt like Garand thumb…

Which led to me having a bit of fun with some Tin, and some springs. It worked kinda like a magazine now, but had the obvious difference of being lever action and having a rather large tin block on top of it, but you can now get seven shots in before having to reload!

Of course problems arose when aiming, which became another problem for the rifle that became unbearable. So using more tin and a looking glass, I had fashioned a rather barbaric looking Scope.

Oh it still sucked, but aiming became easier, though I did get a black eye from the gun if I got too close to the scope. But my aim improved and things got better with time. Truly though, I do hope to get a pistol, It would likely work best with my small frame.

As I took aim down the meadow, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and took off my ear protectors. It was Phillipe, the elder, to be exact. He was looking down at me, and the gun. "This at least explains why you come inside the house covered in dirt." He said, a bit miffed. While I hadn't used any good clothing while shooting, It was a pain for the maids to clean, which led to me apologizing to them more than not.

"The kick is too much for me when I shoot the rifle, knocks me on my ass every time." I said, earning me a cuff to the back of the head. "Watch your language. Give it here." He says, and I had the rifle to him. "You've done some… modifications?" He asked, noting the block sitting on it, and the scope fashioned to it.

"What is… this?" He asked, pointing to the block. "I got tired of reloading it. Each time it would jam when I got dirt in it, and a few times I even got my thumb stuck in it. So I fashioned a Magazine to it." I said, as if it was obvious, not realizing my mistake until it was too late. "Magazine… you mean like in some of the more…recent, rifles?" He said thoughtfully, looking around the rifle, to find where the bullets went in. "where does the ammunition go? This Magazine is in the way."

"Well, when you need to reload, you take the magazine off, take the bullet out and put the magazine back on, and fire. it's less painful than it was before, and I can get fourteen bullets out in a minute this way." I said, looking at him. He looks at it, and tries it out, firing, then fishing the bullet out, and putting the magazine back on. "Rather clunky, but it could work. Though I can't aim right." He said, looking at the scope. "Ah, so you've been shooting left-handed have you? I've told you to try with your right hand."

He said, looking down on me. "I know, but even though I try hard to do stuff with my right hand, I always mess up. You try writing legibly with your left hand, see you write anything at any reasonable pace!" I said, shaking my left hand in the air. He gave little more than a 'Hmph' and handed my rifle back.

"Please try to be at dinner on time, and whilst clean, Marie will have a fit if you're covered in dirt again." He said, as I nodded. "I know, I'll probably go back and take a bath right now, Besides, we're having duck tonight, and I wouldn't miss that!"

++

As it would turn out, we were not having duck. Something about it running away with, with a naval cap on its head and a mouse in tow? I'm rather unsure what it was about, but we found ourselves eating ham instead.

Which was fine! Ham is good too! Just not as juicy and succulent as duck is. Though I wouldn't care if I hadn't been cockblocked because someone couldn't watch the damned bird. Cutting into a slice of ham I looked around the table. Philippe and Marie were seated close to one another, followed by Louise and Ferdinand, and Hélène, Isabelle and I. Philippe the Younger was in India, off galavanting with his military pals.

"Charles, What were you doing today?" Isabelle asked me. "Not much, just enjoying a bit of shooting. You?" I asked, as she nodded. "I was with mother, she was teaching me how to knit!" She said brightly. She was rather childish at times.

"Speaking of shooting, Charles, why don't you tell everyone what you have done to that rifle of yours." Phillipe said, bringing up that damnable rifle. "I modified it a bit, put a magazine on top of it and a scope on it. Nothing much, I don't get why you're bringing it up." I said, taking a bit from my ham.

"You don't know what's so important about what you've done? The Utility of a Removable magazine shouldn't be scoffed at Charles, it was rather ingenious. Why, I wouldn't be far off to say that people would pay for that." He said, thinking for a moment. "Why, I ought to give you a whole little workshop of your own to give it ago, what do you say, want to try to build a gun?" He asked from across the table. All that I could think of was the simple word, echoed through billions of people at one point. 'Fuck.'
+
This is definitely not my proudest chapters, but I've got to go and get ready for a job interview, toodles all!

 

[VictortheMonarch]

09/27/1888
Stowe House,Buckinghamshire
United Kingdom

Why I had ever decided to go along with attempting to make an entire gun from scratch, I will never know, but it had been a good way to destress. Oh sure there were times where I had nearly blown my hand off, but it was all in good fun… kinda. My fingers are still a little singed.

But after eleven failed creations, I have made it! It, being a Semi-Automatic pistol. It was a pain in the ass to make, nearly blowing my hand off on several tests that I eventually just used strings instead to fire it.

Originally it was supposed to look like a 1911, but the kick was too much, there wasn’t enough weight on the barrel, so I instead moved the magazine forward. Now the kick was negligible for me, and Philippe shot the damned thing with not so much of a budge. And it shot .45 colt, it would kill, and kill good.

I personally like to call it the Spanish Automatic Weapon 1888, or the SAW-88 for short. It sucked that it could only fit six bullets in it before needing to be reloaded, but it was fine, I could probably manufacture longer clips later.

I had ordered a custom fit holster for it from a Tanner in London, and hopefully we could even go to London to retrieve it. Though I may need to watch myself, It is in Whitechapel after all.



09/30/1888
Whitechapel, London
United Kingdom

“Why Whitechapel of all places? Surely a Tanner of the report you place him in would choose… greener pastures…” I asked, looking to Philippe. It was a rather decent question, as Whitechapel isn’t the safest place to be, what with the murders, muggings and all other sorts about.

“John is a close friend of mine. We both served under General McClellan in the American Civil War. I invited him to England, and he found he had the best business in Whitechapel. Don’t worry, he lives outside of Whitechapel.” Philippe said. It was only he and I for now, as the rest of the Orleans were back at Stowe House.

“Couldn’t we have waited until the morning? Midnight is not the time to be out and about” I said, yawning into my elbow. It was indeed not the time to be about in Whitechapel, far too dangerous for my taste. “I’ve things to do tomorrow, unless you wish to wait until next month.” Philippe remarked.

Suddenly, there was a loud thump, like a sack of potatoes being dropped onto cold stone. We turned the corner to see what was a horrible, and frightening sight.

There, just twenty feet from us, lay the body of a woman. Her neck was split open wide, leaking blood, forming a puddle in the stone pavement. Above her, a man in a black suit stood. He was dressed in fine black clothes, with a potato bag on his head, stitched together crookedly. A blooded knife in hand.
Slowly he turned to us, and for a moment I thought his eyes aglow, with green hatred seeping from them. He suddenly spoke, with a voice deeper and gravelier than Satan himself. “You saw.” He said, the typical London accent, almost comedic if it were not as frightening.

Suddenly, he began to dash towards us, I bumbled with my pistol, taking it out from where I had it fashioned in my belt, I was too late, as he had knocked down Philippe, and I heard the cruel sound of steel cutting flesh.

I finally got my pistol out, and with a loud and verbal bang, the bullet tore through the man. He fell off Philippe, and with a hand coming to the wound, he staggered off, faltering as he went. I pocketed the pistol as I kneeled next to Philippe, covering the knife wound in his shoulder. “Help! Somebody help us!” I shouted, the door to a club slamming open, as men dressed finely tottered out, some drunker than they should’ve been.

“I shouldn’t have froze as I did.” Philippe said, he sighed. “Knocked the wind out of me, and my back…” he said, wincing from the pain. “It’s okay boy, it’ll leave a scar, but I’m alright… I’m alright.” He said, he was suddenly unresponsive, yet breathing.

As I looked to the direction the murderer went, I saw a carriage heading our way, a bumbling man stepped out, and rushed to the crowd. “What’s all of this then?” he said, before taking notice of I and Philippe. “Well shit.” he said, quite blankly.

“There is a woman over there! The man was standing over her when we rounded the corner!” I said, pointing to the woman. A quick check by one of the folks from the club and she had already passed.

Luckily one of the men in the club was a doctor, and although he didn't have the tools to stitch Philippe, he had the ability to slow the bleeding, to a point where blood only leaked out if you touched the wound. Then, the constable had come.

It took a whole ten minutes for the murderers identity to be found, a legendary figure named Jack the Ripper. It was a surprise to be sure, and within the hour, the body of Jack the Ripper had been found. The murders were at their ends.

Jack the Ripper Dead!
By Isacc Berner

Late last night at 12:59 Pm, another Ripper murder took place, only this time, witnesses saw Jack the Ripper, and brought vengeance apon the murderer. These two heroes, Prince Philippe, the Count of Paris, and the Former Prince of Spain, Charles de Bourbon, were on their way to a
Tanner, a block away from where the Incident took place.

Upon coming and passing by the International Working Men's Educational Club, a socialist bar for jews. The two were met with the body of Elizabeth Stride, and the villainous Jack the Ripper. Where in an altercation, Prince Philippe was stabbed in the shoulder, leaving Charles de Bourbon the opportunity to shoot the murderer!

While the bullet did not immediately kill Jack the Ripper, he would later die at Mitre Square, in the arms of Catherine Eddowes, who alleges that he attempted to kill her in his dying moments!

Upon the unmasking of Jack the Ripper, it was discovered that James Maybrick, a Cotton trader, was the culprit. Not only that, but in a personal diary of James Maybrick, found on his person, written proof that James Maybrick was also the American serial killer known as the Austin Axe Murderer! Eleven lives sadly, and cruelly taken, and now, at peace. Prince Philippe is now recovering from a knife wound at his residence in Buckinghamshire.

Prince Philippe and Charles are to be inducted as members of the civil branch of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath. ​

 

[VictortheMonarch]

The Spanish Automatic Weapon 1888, otherwise known as the SAW-88, is a pistol developed by King Charles V at the ripe age of eight years old. It has seen extensive use after the [Redacted], and has been the main battle handgun of several nations well into the 1940's. with two issued types of a six bullet magazine and a ten bullet magazine, the gun has long captured the hearts of gun enthusiast everywhere

 

[Bear Ribs]

Holy smokes, you killed Jack the Ripper. That usually takes something like divine or at least angelic backup in stories.

 

[VictortheMonarch]

Holy smokes, you killed Jack the Ripper. That usually takes something like divine or at least angelic backup in stories.

He is just a guy. A guy with a knife, but gun beats knife.

 

[Atarlost]

He is just a guy. A guy with a knife, but gun beats knife.

Well, gun beats knife if the gun is already out and pointing at the knife's wielder or the gun wielder is the knife wielder's second priority. A gun in Prince Phillipe's belt wouldn't have done much good in this situation.

 

[VictortheMonarch]

Well, gun beats knife if the gun is already out and pointing at the knife's wielder or the gun wielder is the knife wielder's second priority. A gun in Prince Phillipe's belt wouldn't have done much good in this situation.

Yeah. Originally I was gonna make it harder, but then I got to thinking, Jack would rather kill the adult than the child first. And if he has a gun, it's rather stupid to think Jack could stop him.