[Yet again, hardly anything registers as important, except two things.
France turns and watches England as he paces away. The rest is nothing, inconsequential babble prattling out from those disgusting lips. What interests him though, it catches him like fire and dry grass.]
I was not finished speaking with you, Angleterre. [His pistol--oh it's so very outdated by England's standards but still quite effective--is out, aimed steadily at England's back. The lock and hammer make an audible click. The dull edge of the guillotine flashes sharply; his eyes are cold. Awake. They see beyond where they stand and betray the chains wielded by his citizens tearing him apart.]
Turn and face me, lapin! Have you grown so pale and weak that you've forgotten you should never, ever turn your back to me?
Of course you have! Come here. Come to me with your hands raised and pray that my generosity does not run dry. There may or may not be English blood spilled on the ground today. It depends on how well you cooperate with me, you foul-mouthed sack of molding horse shit.
[Smiling broadly, France drops his rather pleasant and surprisingly conversational tone and barks the following order:]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2011-10-26 01:00 am (UTC)France turns and watches England as he paces away. The rest is nothing, inconsequential babble prattling out from those disgusting lips. What interests him though, it catches him like fire and dry grass.]
I was not finished speaking with you, Angleterre. [His pistol--oh it's so very outdated by England's standards but still quite effective--is out, aimed steadily at England's back. The lock and hammer make an audible click. The dull edge of the guillotine flashes sharply; his eyes are cold. Awake. They see beyond where they stand and betray the chains wielded by his citizens tearing him apart.]
Turn and face me, lapin! Have you grown so pale and weak that you've forgotten you should never, ever turn your back to me?
Of course you have! Come here. Come to me with your hands raised and pray that my generosity does not run dry. There may or may not be English blood spilled on the ground today. It depends on how well you cooperate with me, you foul-mouthed sack of molding horse shit.
[Smiling broadly, France drops his rather pleasant and surprisingly conversational tone and barks the following order:]
Turn!