Date: 2011-10-25 05:19 am (UTC)
[Step by step, France crosses to England in those sturdy, well-made boots. France does not remove his eyes from the other nation, not for one moment, and the silence stretches between them as the distance shrinks--

--until France stops, several feet from England. An acceptable distance.]


... Angleterre. [France's movements--at least with his upper body--are rather stiff. His stance would like to pretend otherwise for the moment.]

So it's true. We are not on our own world. Our lives have been distorted and you are seated in a year beyond mine.

[They are at war, it's true. But that was nothing new to France and, as it stands, the fires consuming him are temporarily held back by the disorientation being here has caused him. His eyes search England--the greens looking back at him, at his body language; every eye movement, every breath, every twitch of his bones and muscle.

It's kind of an obsession.

France's observations, emotions and general aura are raw. They are raw and open, bleeding, but very, very guarded with shaking fingers curled 'round each of his mental triggers.]
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Arthur Kirkland

January 2012

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