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[When the curse hits, Poland is in the kitchen, grabbing a glass of milk and a thick slice of good bread to cure his midnight munchies. He's making his way back home, snack in hand, still unarmed and barefooted and in his pajamas, when he hears the sound of men marching in too-precise unison.]
[Around the corner, about half a dozen soldiers appear, in uniform. Wearing the insignia the Major wore, the one Poland saw all over those history books from the future before he decided to put them away and think on them as little as possible.]
[He's wide-eyed in panic for a moment, then darts into the nearest room to hide. And get a weapon. Not necessarily in that order.]
[Outside, the soldiers begin knocking on doors, searching for him.]
[OOC: Anyone who interacts with Poland WILL NOT RECOGNIZE HIM, and he gives off a sort of aura that make them all instinctively view helping him as far more trouble than it's worth, which is what he's really afraid of. Also, if you live on the first or fifth floor and want to say the room he picked at random to flee into was yours, please do!]
[Around the corner, about half a dozen soldiers appear, in uniform. Wearing the insignia the Major wore, the one Poland saw all over those history books from the future before he decided to put them away and think on them as little as possible.]
[He's wide-eyed in panic for a moment, then darts into the nearest room to hide. And get a weapon. Not necessarily in that order.]
[Outside, the soldiers begin knocking on doors, searching for him.]
[OOC: Anyone who interacts with Poland WILL NOT RECOGNIZE HIM, and he gives off a sort of aura that make them all instinctively view helping him as far more trouble than it's worth, which is what he's really afraid of. Also, if you live on the first or fifth floor and want to say the room he picked at random to flee into was yours, please do!]
