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angleterre[ Thursday. At the outskirts of Discedo. ]
[ The communicator isn't supposed to be on. At least not at first. There's breathy sigh and the viewscreen flicks on to show Arthur looking vaguely like a mummy, face bandaged, one eye swollen shut, the middle of his face wrapped with splints in place, limping through the forest and leaning against a stick while glancing down at his communicator. ]
[ Although he'd been told to sit tight by Rosemary, the second the woman decided to take a little excursion while Arthur was 'resting', he was out of the house and on the run. And by run, of course, it's implied he's limping along. He found a strong stick to lean against while exploring the forest, clumsily trying to utilise his communicator to follow the map programme. ]
[ It's only after fumbling with the device for about fifteen minutes does he notice the little thing is in fact recording, and he considers shutting it off, but some vindictive streak within him flares up and prevents him from terminating communications. ]
So you want a show? Fair enough. You'll have your bloody show.
[ Some more snuffling along. He's quiet for the next ten minutes, and by the sounds he's making, it seems like he's either making real progress in his great escape or the entire fiasco is so taxing on him he may collapse at any moment. ]
Monsters. Tch. Monsters! I told them they had nothing to worry about. America's clearly gone mad, France is a bastard, and the rest of you lot are a bunch of cowards. There's no monsters in this forest. Someone probably went out and found themselves startled by a sodding deer. Honestly, other planets, two moons, monsters, I'm tired of all this bollo-- [ And before he can finish, a ground-shaking roar rips from the throat of some gigantic thing, out of the communicator's line of sight, and though Arthur offers up no frightened glance, he does appear to be quite confused for a moment.Before that thought is completed, England is seen being lifted into the air by some giant, white furry thing, and the communicator drops to the ground with the sound of his screams echoing in the background, a healthy dose of red bathing the video feed before the communication cuts out. ]
~*~
[ Friday. At the Discedo hospital. ]
[ When he wakes, it feels vaguely like his head has been sucked through a black hole, made into a singularity and then exploded again in a big bang only to vaguely resemble the shape his head was in before. Sitting up feels somewhat akin to giving birth, and when he does manage to finally sit up, he finds his communicator is on on the beside table, (clean of blood too!), and a little figurine sitting next to it. ]
Nggg, fuckin' Hell... [ A hand to his head, and he reaches over for the communicator, but pauses, and picks up the doll, bringing it closer to him. When he speaks, it's almost as if he's speaking to the figurine. ] That wasn't my brightest idea. [ He tilts his head to the side. ] And just who put you here...
[ A full minute passes before he reaches over, blindly, and manages to shut off the communicator. ]
[ooc note: so this post is open to both video communicator and action on the 28th, though feel free to post reactions to Arthur's extremely climactic adventure on the 27th, he just won't respond to them seeing as he's being digested that day, and otherwise occupied. ]
[ The communicator isn't supposed to be on. At least not at first. There's breathy sigh and the viewscreen flicks on to show Arthur looking vaguely like a mummy, face bandaged, one eye swollen shut, the middle of his face wrapped with splints in place, limping through the forest and leaning against a stick while glancing down at his communicator. ]
[ Although he'd been told to sit tight by Rosemary, the second the woman decided to take a little excursion while Arthur was 'resting', he was out of the house and on the run. And by run, of course, it's implied he's limping along. He found a strong stick to lean against while exploring the forest, clumsily trying to utilise his communicator to follow the map programme. ]
[ It's only after fumbling with the device for about fifteen minutes does he notice the little thing is in fact recording, and he considers shutting it off, but some vindictive streak within him flares up and prevents him from terminating communications. ]
So you want a show? Fair enough. You'll have your bloody show.
[ Some more snuffling along. He's quiet for the next ten minutes, and by the sounds he's making, it seems like he's either making real progress in his great escape or the entire fiasco is so taxing on him he may collapse at any moment. ]
Monsters. Tch. Monsters! I told them they had nothing to worry about. America's clearly gone mad, France is a bastard, and the rest of you lot are a bunch of cowards. There's no monsters in this forest. Someone probably went out and found themselves startled by a sodding deer. Honestly, other planets, two moons, monsters, I'm tired of all this bollo-- [ And before he can finish, a ground-shaking roar rips from the throat of some gigantic thing, out of the communicator's line of sight, and though Arthur offers up no frightened glance, he does appear to be quite confused for a moment.Before that thought is completed, England is seen being lifted into the air by some giant, white furry thing, and the communicator drops to the ground with the sound of his screams echoing in the background, a healthy dose of red bathing the video feed before the communication cuts out. ]
~*~
[ Friday. At the Discedo hospital. ]
[ When he wakes, it feels vaguely like his head has been sucked through a black hole, made into a singularity and then exploded again in a big bang only to vaguely resemble the shape his head was in before. Sitting up feels somewhat akin to giving birth, and when he does manage to finally sit up, he finds his communicator is on on the beside table, (clean of blood too!), and a little figurine sitting next to it. ]
Nggg, fuckin' Hell... [ A hand to his head, and he reaches over for the communicator, but pauses, and picks up the doll, bringing it closer to him. When he speaks, it's almost as if he's speaking to the figurine. ] That wasn't my brightest idea. [ He tilts his head to the side. ] And just who put you here...
[ A full minute passes before he reaches over, blindly, and manages to shut off the communicator. ]
[ooc note: so this post is open to both video communicator and action on the 28th, though feel free to post reactions to Arthur's extremely climactic adventure on the 27th, he just won't respond to them seeing as he's being digested that day, and otherwise occupied. ]
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no subject
Date: 2011-11-09 07:31 am (UTC)...
Hm.]
Non. You are an insane bastard. You're crazy! [Wow that is so halfhearted who is he kidding...]
[France clambers over and, somewhat behind England, rests his head on the other nation's shoulder.
He just needs to make sure he's there.
The residual effects from the nightmare of reliving his entire history, ending it with the revolution and England's supposed destruction, they're still hanging around him like a cloud and no amount of preening in a mirror will get rid of them in their entirety.]
Do you know what the others did? They were afraid I would continue on in conquest to the rest of them, except Amerique and Hong Kong, they were... very distressed. Even the mademoiselles Prusse and Romana confronted me.
Look at that Angleterre, they don't hate you! But, of course they don't, because hating you is what I do.
[God, does he hate him. The stupid smug, perverted, uncultured bastard.
Fuck England.
Fuck him for making France relieved that he's alive and not permanently dead, because who would he have to hate? Germany? Austria? None of them could come close!
He grinds his teeth, growling.] ... Fuck you, Angleterre.
[Fuck England for making France need him. Not a romantic need--the thought of that would boil France's blood in the worst way--but a fraternal need, or... God, he doesn't know. Fuck France, fuck England, fuck the fact that all these feelings--the ones from the last 2,000 years--had to be dredged up when he'd had them buried nicely, far away in some dungeon he's set aside like any other nation would for this kind of thing.
France trembles a little. He doesn't know if it's in anger or stress or what, and he won't think on it because he doesn't have to. They never have to, there's so many words but neither of them have to say them out loud anymore. They just know.
Even with his expression of seething hatred, rubbed raw by recent events, this position and a shaking sigh are revealing enough; he feels exposed and he hates it, so he wraps his arms around himself and lets his emotions settle, right there next to his enemy. England can take or leave them as he pleases, France can't remember the last time he's really cared about that.
Give him a day at most. He'll be fine.]
no subject
Date: 2011-11-12 04:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-12 04:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-12 04:03 am (UTC)[ He could respond with anger. ]
[ It would be so easy. ]
no subject
Date: 2011-11-12 04:07 am (UTC)[ And England's never been an understanding person, he's never really been able to comprehend the emotional complexities of the people around him, and he can't even begin to pretend he was ever able in doing this. A creature like France is a six-column, six-row Rubik's cube which has been toyed with and confused for years, and England is a mere child with stubby fingers, clumsily trying to maneuver the facets with stumbling movements and trembling hands. ]
[ It's always been this way. ]
[ But now he just sits there and listens, watches, waits, allows France to draw his fingers around himself, then to glance back out the window. ]
no subject
Date: 2011-11-12 04:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-12 04:14 am (UTC)[ He's only a romantic to copy the older nation. He's only good with feelings when he's practiced them, he's only able to recite poetry and court his women when he's rehearsed. So when the time comes for him to let walls crumble and fall, if only for the moment, the ugly beast hiding underneath is just a small child, unsure of his actions and even more so of their repercussions. ]
[ Still, he can't do nothing, so with a wince, he buries his head against his neck and pulls him close, swallowing and just holds him there. He wants to be eloquent with his words and he certainly wants to be able to say, they're not angry with you and it wasn't me they were protecting and I need you and most of all, I'm just glad you're all right. ]
[ Because that would be too hard. And it would show too much between them. ]
[ And they don't show things. They just do them. That's how it's always been, and how it always will be. ]
[ So when he opens his eyes, minutes have passed, and he's staring into the jut of France's collarbone, and he's nothing to say. ]
[ So he doesn't say anything. ]
no subject
Date: 2011-11-13 03:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-13 03:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-13 03:55 am (UTC)done <3
Date: 2011-11-13 04:25 am (UTC)But only if things got especially bad.
Like when they had their first territorial and political disputes and didn't understand yet what it all would mean. When other empires threatened from the east. When they felt the growing pains of their own kingdoms and their histories clashed and banged together like speeding trains running parallel. When those trains crashed in the madness of the world stretching its legs in the twentieth century, and their best laid plans had to be revised; their destinies scrutinized and changed.
France really doesn't want to think.
But he will.So he just holds on and, at least verbally, says nothing; though like England, there are so many words he shouldn't and won't say, but they hover in the air regardless while he clutches at the other nation's shirt.
I never wanted you to die and not come back. Not once.
It's pathetic and disgusting how he hasn't let go yet. Or maybe it's just a nice moment. These things are difficult to gauge after centuries; they've blended together after all this time.
Merci mon petit frère.]
djkghdsfihgifphjnghklmn
Date: 2011-11-15 05:36 am (UTC)[ Then shoves him back and rights himself. ]
All right, enough of that you froggy cunt. So then, I take it your plans to escape this dreary misery haven't worked out thus far. That's all right like: luckily for you, I have managed to come up with a fabulous distraction with which to both marvel and amuse the mundane citizens of this awful planet.
[ Tilting his head back, then leaning it against his shoulder, he smiiiiiiles at France. ]
Tell me, minus your atrocious accent, do you have any interest in... say... acting?
no subject
Date: 2011-11-15 05:46 am (UTC)Mm? Of course! Unless it is to pretend your food is anything less than toxic.