America
Character
played by aniskywolf
Posts: 28
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Post by America on Jul 8, 2010 1:05:10 GMT -5
How bothersome. Leafing through the book he was reading he was encountering topics that he didn't ever think of. The Confederate States of America? What... what? He was confused more than anything, but later his confusion was cleared up as he read more. Huh, interesting. Not moving his head, blue eyes flicked to a small noise he was hearing. Whatever, probably just others in the library as well. It was unusually quiet though... so... maybe it was just a small animal or something. That was fairly possible. He would know about small creatures. Before he was taken in by England, all he knew was the woods and it's inhabitants. Especially rabbits... he sighed at the thought. Euhh enough of this... this... he was beginning to regret having all this started in the first place. "Give me liberty or give me death" was what the Patriots yelled. There wasn't a doubt that he chimed in with them. But... was all that bloodshed necessary. At the time... yes... and his people had needed it to prove a point. He just joined in. He shook his head and turned the page. Wars... gotta love'em
He blinked as he heard voices now. They were quiet tones. The voice that sounded them was England's. But... why in the world...? He looked up and saw nothing. He was probably in one of the aisle not angled towards him. Not that it mattered, but the young man frowned. He remembered those tones like they were just spoken to him just a few moments ago. They were soft, kind tones that always made the boy feel better whenever something ailed him or something saddened him. All those tones were replaced by aggressive, rough tones. They turned to shouting and yelling and rage. America sighed and did so wonder why he was speaking like that. Closing the book, the uniformed man placed it down beside him and blinked hard at what he saw next. There was a flash, and then ruckus. Wait what? brows furrowing the rebel stood, stance leaned to peak into one of the aisles. Nothing. The blond was becoming quite nervous by this. Just what was going on. His arm traveled to his back where he kept his musket and fingers traced the wood as he became more anxious.
He then saw the Redcoat and couldn't help but look frustratingly confused. Just what the fuck was going on here? He saw the Brit grab the musket, not even acknowledging Amercia's existence, and aimed the gun at something. The fuck was he doing?! Had he gone crazy?! Then he blinked only to hear the sounds of a child laughing all to... playfully. At that, he watched as the Redcoat went after... god knows what. The Patriot wanted to follow but it wasn't his business. He rubbed his head as he sighed. Today was just screwed up in every single way. Just... eugh what? Then blue eyes widened at the sound of crashing and burning. The fuck?! Immediately the boy pulled out his musket and loaded it before looking at the damage dealt by... whatever had caused the shelves to be wrecked and the walls to be scorched. He grunted. Was something similar to the monster they encountered outside causing this? If so he was going to try his hardest to make sure there was nothing left of the thing. Running, he went down one of the aisles only to see England just standing, shaking as he aimed his gun at a... child? Ugh was there no end to this madness? Surely despite everything Alfred knew that Arthur would never go as far as to shoot an innocent child--
The patriot barely avoided the sphere the child threw at him, stumbling to his knees. He was still sick, still out of it. Child my ass that thing was a fucking... what the shit?! His arm burned, switching his gun to his other hand to allow the other to hold the spot where it hurt. Shit... he felt his skin instead of cotton. The sphere thing had burned him... even though it grazed him, it got him. Sneering, he stumbled to his feet and glared at the evil little thing before quickly running towards England, attempting to grab his shoulder and shake him back to reality. The fuck was he doing just standing around?!
"The hell are you doing?" He asked rapidly, eyes flicking between him and the strange child thing whatever the fuck it was
America then shifted his attention to the child, decided to go and grab the little demon of a child. Though it laughed and ran away to the other wing of the library. So it was hide and seek now, was it? He grunted, looking back at Arthur to see if he finally got his head back on his shoulders. Such a pain this was. After which, the blond young man followed after, knowing that there was a good chance he was going to get hurt. It was like being in the battlefields. You had no idea as to whether you were going to finish that battle or die halfway through it. He walked slowly, body slanted so that he wasn't too noticeable, refusing to say a word, eyes narrowed. Where the hell was this bloody child? Though as soon as he peeked into an aisle, some evil animal thing leaped out of nowhere, tying to claw at the man's face. Like shit he was going to let it do that! He swung his musket to knock it away, hopefully the bayonet cutting it. He then ran down the sides and hid himself in an aisle, crouched down, teeth gritted. Shit, more fighting? While America and the rest of the Patriots fought guerrilla warfare, thus was ridiculous.
He sat and leaned against a book shelf, a heavy sigh being released, his headache coming back. Shit, all this stress was getting at him now. Rubbing his palm against his forehead he blinked. Why was it so quiet-- He somersaulted out of the way as part of the bookshelf was burned and fell against the other one. The blast was loud and echoed through the building. Just what the hell was it throwing at him? It wasn't even like a canon ball! It just dissapeared as soon as it hit something. So strange. He didn't feel like moving anymore. He felt so tired, just to sleep, that would be nice. Maybe the illness would go away. He sighed and his eyelids got heavy. Just don't come here, and let him sleep. Oh yes... nice plan. His grip loosened on the musket he held near his chest. Damn thing...
[ ooc: HAHAH DONE NOW. ]
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Post by England on Jul 14, 2010 17:52:53 GMT -5
"The hell are you doing?"
Shaken he grunted, blinking, though ignoring the boy just... he just stood. How pathetic. The mighty English Empire simply stood, staring at... Nothing... So America was hurt...? Did that make him... Feel? Yes... Yes, it made his blood boil. That was something, anything. He didn't know, and yet at least he did. The hell had that thing done to adle his mind so...?! Rubbing his face he turned on his heels, quickly following the yank.
Seeing him, crouched, he flinched ever so slightly, hardly sure if to approach or just.. Stay back and let whatever happened happen. Oh he knew which he wanted to do, he also knew what he should do, both of which were entirely different alas. Yet what would the boy want? He didn't want support, not from England, and that hurt. Yet what was he to do about it? If the boy had chosen independence was he not by default nothing to do with the British Empire? Technically. As a nation he was now not England's concern, the country didn't have to fight his battles any more, nor protect him. So why, god damn why did he want to? He knew, alas he knew what made him do so. By choosing England the child had shackled himself to the Empire, not in a sense that could be seen, and not in the sense that one couldn't just walk away, but in the sense he damn well made England care the the eternity of their lives. And what a crime that was. The once mighty captain Kirkland reduced to this by simply one person, as a pirate he should not have cared. As an Empire he should not have shown favouritism between his colonies. Yet as a person he couldn’t help it, those now dulled blue eyes melted his heart. They made him do damn stupid things for all the wrong reasons, and yet still he did them. He probably always would, and yet it hurt so much to know all he’d ever see behind them again was hate… Perhaps that had become his biggest fear, a fear come true.
Stepping forward he shook his head, stupid things for all the wrong reasons so he kept telling himself. The boy looked exhausted, he felt the same, he felt no better. The difference was discipline though, a good British soldier persisted until the fight was won, they did not drop, ever. Crouching in front of the yank hurt green eyes softened slightly, so badly he just wanted to ruffle the boy’s hair and tell him he’d done well, that he’d exceeded anything the empire had expected. He couldn’t, he couldn’t despite wanting to so freaking badly. Instead he went to place a palm on the musket and push it back to his chest. “It’s nearly over…” His voice was just… Full of everything. On one hand it was trying to be soft, calming, trying to comfort the lad… Yet on the other it was torn, broken, shattered by defeat.... Perhaps even angry. It was so mixed and yet also clear. Whereas a Brit would have wanted the worst case scenario this boy, this little rebel, he was a damn well dreamer. He always had been, and heavens knew he always would be. And so nothing less than a dull optimism was acceptable as Briton tried to pull him up by the collar as he himself stood.
And that was that... He couldn't ask for help, the boy would refuse... It would have been easier to work together, both were just so... So tired... There was no way really, not without luck, not without a hell of a lot of luck. Shouldering the musket, bayonet now reattached, he glared at the ground, he didn't know. He wanted to curl up and drink the day away, drink the pain into oblivion until all that was left was a dull... nothing. That sweet alcohol induced nothing... He sighed, a drink would be fucking great. "Oi!" He hissed out, slinking around trying to find the damn thing. "Pissing dipshit, get your fucking arse here..." Voice horse he narrowed his eyes, damn thing was there when you wanted it, vanished when you didn't... And then there was a heavy thumping from the way he'd come, had the thing come past Alfred? He cocked a brow and turned, eyes narrowed slightly at the thing on haunches, almost grinning. Almost. Running fingers through his sweat sleek hair he sighed, eyes once more on the floor. What was the fucking point, there was none, none at all. He'd lost everything close to him, already the oh so familiar chill of loneliness was creeping in with the loss. It was unbearable.
Straightening, back rigid as those near lifeless green eyes scanned the thing with distaste, at least it wasn't trying to freaking blow him up. "Come on then," barely a growl he held the musket to his side. It was basic British tactics, be in plain view, be in plain view, but have something up your sleeve. There was a reason he was feared, and oooh was this not it. He'd have sneered before this day, such a haughty look, now his eyes were slanted to the side, almost ashamed. Fuh, damn yank... What had he done...? He'd broken something he couldn't even comprehend. Yet that was all shoved aside as the thing fell down onto four legs making the strangest growl as it barrelled forward to him. You know what... Good. Lifting his chin slightly a drawn out frown took hold of sharp features. Like a puppet on a string. It leapt, it landed upon him, he yelped as a hand leg of the thing struck a rib to hard, giving a nasty crack... And then it died. Growling the man coughed, wincing as he swung the musket to the side, bayonet dislodging from the thing's chest. It had been simple really, using the things own weight against it, simply holding the weapon up so the thing speared itself.
Huffing he patted his chest, still in one piece? It was more than he'd expected. Nothing seemed torn, perhaps just a few cracked ribs. Eugh, rolling to his side he stayed bowed for a moment, looking the large... Werewolf like thing over. What was he even doing here... shaking his head he grasped the weapon, pushing up to stumble to his feet. Good old sturdy England, so reliable to get the job done. Need someone killed? He was your nation, tyrant of the see. Power hungry beast. He sighed and rubbed his head, shoulders sagged. He'd had enough, it was to much. Looking over his shoulder to where he hoped the proud rebel would be standing, eyes hooded slightly, before he closed them utterly. He really didn't know what to say anyway, he was tired, he was hurting, he was heartbroken.... He was alone. Huh...
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America
Character
played by aniskywolf
Posts: 28
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Post by America on Jul 15, 2010 14:40:25 GMT -5
He merely sat there, head silted slightly. He was beginning to just surrender his body to the need for sleep. Ah, just the thought of getting rest after a long, troublesome day seemed like a wonderful fantasy he wanted to let happen. It was foolish to sleep while you knew you were in danger. But dear god was his body aching so badly to. It was so temping, so foolishly tempting to just close his eyes, but he knew if he did they would not open for anything. Dammit, everything was so difficult today. Eyes half closed, exhausted blue eyes looked around to see if anyone was coming. Hell he didn't even see that gray... monster thing. Jesus was Japan just full of these strange creatures that just wanted to maul the shit out of thing? You know what thank god he never knew of this little island before, because if he had then by god he'd never ever go there. Well now he knew, huh? Eyelids fluttered slightly before slowly closing. Shit, he gave in... but before anything else could happen, he heard a voice. The voice of the same man he swore he'd defeat, eyes slowly open as the Brit was crouched before him, speaking, his hand pushing against the musket back to the boy. The patriot's grip on the gun tightened at the action.
“It’s nearly over…” The tones he used... why was he using them? A confused, tired look came across on his face. Why? Dammit this man was making him feel so much guilt for what he had done. The young man was not allowed to feel guilt he started this damn thing for his own needs and by god he was going to finish it and take his freedom. But why, why was he feeling this guilt? He felt so bad to have brought this about. It was so... he didn't know. Thoughts of when England broke down right in front of him earlier came across in his mind. So badly now he wanted to ask "why". Why did England have to make him feel regret fro his actions? Freedom was not supposed to feel this way. It was supposed to be amazing, after all it was something he longed for so dearly. But now it was bittersweet. Not yet free and still he could tell that it was going to be bittersweet, hell, it would be just bitter by this point. Shit, just... shit. Then the man's hand curled around his red collar, bringing the boy up with him. At the action, the rebel forced himself to stand as if England wasn't laying even a hand to help him. He wanted to badly to prove he wasn't some weak soldier and that he deserved every ounce of respect and freedom he fought so hard for... so hard for and it felt like he was fighting just to fight at this point. Dammit.
"Oi! Pissing dipshit, get your fucking arse here..." The question still remained. Why where they helping each other. Well, they weren't really working together but, why weren't just fending for themselves? This was the exact opposite of what happened just a few hours ago. The exact opposite of just everything. It was confusing Alfred, a lot. Just... why? Dammit not now, don't dwell on this now. There was some demented thing out there trying to kill them. That wouldn't be a first. America was pretty convinced people were out to kill him when the Boston Massacre occurred, but this was just insane. A feeble little animal that could pack a punch wanted to kill them. Why? Like fuck he knew, and his expression became frustrated by this. Holding on to his musket in front of his chest, he walked to the opposite side of the aisle slowly, hopefully not to be caught by surprised. Though he spun around as he heard the thing and Arthur's voice.
"Come on then." He saw the thing and the Redcoat before him stand off, as if they were about to just charge at each other and hope one of them comes out alive. He wanted to load his gun, just shoot the thing right then and there, but that nasty thing would do something utterly low and cause him to have shot the wrong target. he refrained, simply lowering his rifle from an aiming position so that the muzzle of it was pointing at the floor, and simply watched. Soon enough, the thing leaped for the empire, tackling the man to the floor, a sort of cracking noise being heard. At that, the young man flinched, not at how painful it was, but the fact he just saw England in more pain. It was just adding to the damage that America had brought upon him, and it seem cruel and inhumane. He owned the older man this much, This much after everything, to just watched. His eyes narrowed, not in frustration, not in anything, but the fact he couldn't believe what he had done, and then this. At least something died in the end, but thank the lord it wasn't either of them, but the creature that had been impaled by the deadly bayonet. Lovely.
The young patriot took a step forward as England took back his musket from the creature's body. Dammit what had he done now. Tension, riots, boycotts, battles, wars; they were all caused by something, and that something was disagreement. If you disagree with something, oftentimes someone might spite you for it. This was exactly what happened. They disagreed with each other to the point where they literally had bullets raining down on the other. But now, now what? Where they still in that same mode? That same mode to get rid of the other so that there would be no more disagreements, but just one big mass that agreed on one thing? That was impossible, and yet there the British soldiers were, trying to calm the colonies down so that they agreed to what they didn't believe in. The tried to damn hard, but in the end, they failed. They failed to complete what they wanted to achieve. America did not want the same to happen to him. He was going to do the opposite, and that as succeed. Though now, was he going to be so cruel as to finish this off now as he walked towards the old empire who forced himself up, a mere musket for support? No, that was abuse all on it's own. Even after everything, America still had a bit of Loyalist within him, the side that still wanted to be with England. And so the boy approached the man, eyes as tired as his own looking at him. He felt, so sorry. So utterly sorry. Guilt was weighing down on his shoulders and swore he felt the world upon them. He wanted to say something, but he felt as if something was caught in his throat, disabling him to speak. He dearly so wanted to say the words. "I'm sorry". But instead, he placed a hand lightly on the Redcoat's shoulder. Dear lord did the patriot within him wanted to slap him across the face for even doing such an action but, what else could he do? This was the closet thing to an apology the Redcoat was every going to get as of yet. He sighed heavily.
"I think it's clear who needs the rest..." He said, his tone sounding so beat and tired, but, if anything, if you really listened, his tones were sorry. "I think a 'hospital' though would help with your.. injuries..." Because he sure as hell couldn't, and wouldn't, help.
As much as one part of him wanted to let go, to take his hand off the man's shoulder, he left it there, if only for the desire to show that he was feeling something other than utter resentment. Wasn't that all he wanted to show before? To show that he absolutely loathed this man so that he could break free? Yes, but remember, not everyone agreed to becoming free, and so, there was a small part of him longed to stay with England, to remain his little brother for as long as the other allowed. That part of him, that loyalist part of him, was apologizing for the other side, whether Arthur saw the subtle apology or not. This was the best America could give at the moment, but, deep down, he just wanted to tell him how much he was sorry, how much he regretted, and how he wish there was another way. There probably was, but damned was everyone so angry and blinded that he too became wrapped in the violence. He wondered how England would take the contact and the words the young man had spoken. With that, he tightened his grip on the man's shoulder, forcing himself to say something.
"I... wish there was another way." He said, holding back little of the regret he felt. And with that, his grip released on the man.
He took a step back, finally returning to the mood he was originally in. He had to estrange himself. From now on, he was estranged from the man known as Arthur, the nation known as England. But at the same time, he did not want that. The feeling of contradiction crept in as he went to pick up books that had fallen off from their shelves and place them back, not caring that they were all misplaced and unorganized. he just needed to take some time off from thinking so much about anything. A break from all that he was feeling. A sleep would be nice too. But there was still much to be done. He took a book and flicked through it a bit before placing it on the book back in the shelf, looking back to England for a few moments. Only a few more days and it would be all over between them, huh... His eyes flicked at the creature. So much had happened in one day, so odd. Well, not odd, but, eugh he didn't know. Picking up his musket which he lay on the top of the bookshelf while he was picking up books, he began to slowly walk away from the aisle they were in, not really expecting England to follow. He walked up to one of the seats that circled around a table within the library and flopped himself down upon it. Dear lord this was comfortable. He breathed deeply. His back felt so relaxed now, he was sitting somewhere proper. he could just sleep now. That would be nice. He closed his eyes, hoping nothing would startle him or cause more shit. He ran his fingers through his blond, messy hair that was covered in dirt, sweat, and god knows what else. Just... relax, and forget... good plan/
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Post by England on Jul 18, 2010 22:39:30 GMT -5
"I think it's clear who needs the rest..."
Opening his eyes he listened silently as he spoke. Rest? Yes, they both needed it terribly, that he could see very easily.
"I think a 'hospital' though would help with your.. injuries..."
He refused to delude himself into thinking it was said through worry, it would only be of benefit for the young nation should Britannia die, no matter what prior words indicated. He shook his head though, yes he was probably bleeding again, and yes he no doubt had some cracked ribs. Though as the English empire that was nothing, he was already a a littered mess of scars, what were a few more? “Your arm...” No doubt the boy's arm needed to be tended, no doubt at all... Why did he care though? Why did he damn well care?! It was simple, so fucking simple. The boy was his brother, and in a part of England's tattered heart he always would be.
He... Sighed. As the hand fell against his shoulder he sighed, body going rigid beneath it. He didn't want the contact, and yet at the same time he did. He wanted to pull the boy into a hug and just.... And just tell him that he was sorry. He was so sorry for everything. All this pain he was causing, that he was bringing about and inflicting. He didn't want to, didn't even mean to damn well do this. He just wanted to go back to how e- No, he didn't even want that. Somewhere down the line he'd messed up, perhaps he had from the very start. He'd never once let the boy call him brother, perhaps that was where it had started... Yet he'd done that for the best, truly he had. It hadn't been to spite the boy, heavens, he'd... He hadn't trusted enough. Closing his eyes he turned his head to the side slightly. He'd done it simply through his own selfish associations with the term, because his own legitimate brothers were just... Bastards. He'd done it because somewhere he was scared that being called such would end in pain... And yet it had happened anyway. He was such a fool, he'd presumed the removal of one word would be able to prevent things going wrong. Perhaps his mistrust was what had led him so astray.
As the grip tightened he sighed, what was he to do? One way or another it would be easier if Alfred would just... Make up his mind... It was almost sadistically cruel of him to be pulling this out. They both knew it wouldn't last, they both knew exactly what would happen sooner or later. Wasn't it wrong to do this? To act like there was still something there? Yes, yes it was so damn wrong. What was America trying to do? Show he didn't want this? That he was sorry? If.... he was so sorry then why start it? Closing his eyes he lay a hand across the boys extended arm. It was always going to come to this. One had to obey their boss, a country had to listen no matter what, they could try and sway them, they could advise, they could even protest. Yet in the end they always had to listen, it came to that at all times. Had it not been for such things then there would have been no problems, as a human it would have come through perfectly fine. Perhaps for the first time he resented what he was... If only mildly. He, they, all of them that is, were bound to loneliness. Perhaps that was why they were so often drawn to each other, why they took other nations into homes and hearts. He knew so well what it was to be lonely, it was a part of him, yet for the first time he was resenting it with a passion.
“I... Wish there was another way.”
The hand was removed, his own falling to his side with that. Opening eyes again he felt tears prick again, dammit... Looking to blue eyes he shook his head slightly. How... Just how... How was he so fucking naïve as to think there wasn't? With a shaky breath he pursed his lips, ribs twinging at the intake. “You're... just blind...” He murmured as the boy started away. There were so many other ways, so many other options, yet the younger nation didn't see any of them. He could point them out, but what was the point? He simply had a nagging voice in his head whispering sweet treachery to him, telling him in so many ways the boy didn't care, that he'd never cared. Logically it could make sense, the boy had chosen England who visibly had nothing much to offer in comparison to Francis. Yet no, the boy had chosen the English Empire, the stronger force... With a sigh he rubbed the side of his head, he refused to believe that. Alfred had been so innocent back then, the tears in his eyes as he delicately brushed a hand on England, asking what was wrong. There was no way that boy was anything but innocent. He'd never find a bitter thought against him, perhaps deep under the anguish he still couldn't against the older version. Would he ever really feel anything but adoration.
Nudging himself back to reality he blinked, slinking after the boy, not so much for the sake of actually being with him, more just... Well dammit he wanted to sit. No doubt people would seen be rushing around over the prior uproar, but right now it was safe to just... Do nothing... And so passing the boy he found a small armchair, flopping into it, teeth gritting as back and chest pulled painfully. Shaking it off he turned himself, legs flicking up to rest over one of the arms, the side of his head resting against the back. Gods above it felt good to just... Relax. Hell he wasn't really relaxed, even as eyes slid closed. His body was tense and rigid, hardly molding into the chair's form. He was anything but relaxed, and no doubt it would be damn well years before he ever got the chance. Hell, even now though the war was over the direct repercussions would be felt. Whilst Alfred would be off celebration dear old England would no doubt be getting an ear full from his king. With a grunting sigh he wrapped and arm around himself, shoulders hunching as he laced fingers over his chest. That bugger was giving him a headache, kings, he'd seen a lot in his time, none of the modern ones ever really compared with the ones of old. He missed those days...
Without shifting he groaned and opened his eyes again, fucking last thing he needed. Even drifting in and out of sleep damn well images haunted his mind, pushing at him, mocking him. “I need a drink...” He grumbled, glaring at the wall. He was a notorious drinker, he didn't really just get slightly tipsy, he just tended to get wasted out of his skull, shit brained to the point where nothing at all made sense. He rarely needed to, and in such times he'd drink less, it was only when there was a part of himself he needed to numb that he drunk to the point he wouldn't even remember his own name. In this case it was all of him that he needed to drown. Eugh. Fucking pain in the ass this world was being, he didn't want any of this, for near 2000 years he'd dealt with the crap it threw at him, growing from it. Yet now look at him, sat in a building no doubt full of many people... Alone. It was how it had always been, since he was first formed, shaggy haired and wild, running around his lands, through the woods, just free to do whatever he'd wanted, and then of course the Anglo-saxxons had come, inhabiting his land, they were his people from that point on... After that the vikings from that bastard Denmark had come, conquering the still young child until Alfred the great had come along and kicked their asses out...
How Ironic...
His once king, the one who held the same name as America, had done what the present Alfred was doing. Dispelling a feared threat of oppression. He wouldn't even know. Arthur had little doubt the boy knew nothing of kings long past, of great men, heroes of the people. Alfred had been the first, the first to rise up with his young nation and say enough was enough. There had been many more, many great men, all of them leading his people with a great honor, hell, not all of them even men. Many a noble queen had passed the throne, all of them he'd followed with strength and pride. It was what he did. He was a proud man, arrogant? Yes, he could be that, just as any other man could be. Yet beyond that he was genuinely proud, proud of his people and country, proud to be the one who represented them. He was their heart and soul, he was the pride of Britain, even if not all of them knew him. He was what they fought for in wars, they fought to maintain his standing in the world. He thanked every single one of them.
Leaning against the back of the chair he tucked his head against his chest. It was so silent... Well... He was in a library, so of course that was a given, but still, it was unnerving. For someone who'd only hours ago been in the midst of war the silence.... Was less comforting than it should have been, instead it was ominous, dark and terrible. All it spelled for him was visions of the future, honestly the past was a far better place to him, and with the black death, being controlled by France, and countless other drawls that was saying a lot. More than anything it just seemed pointless now, he didn't fucking want this, he was a country sure, but he had feelings. How many people could claim to something like this? China was perhaps the only other. “All off this... just to end as allies...” Why? Continuing his glaring at the wall he tightened his grip around himself. This was all just a fucking well joke, and he was not laughing.
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America
Character
played by aniskywolf
Posts: 28
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Post by America on Jul 19, 2010 16:59:51 GMT -5
I'm writing on a little piece of paper I'm hoping someday you might find Well I'll hide it behind something They won't look behind “Your arm...”
Oh. Yeah. That. He ignored the pain until it was mentioned. Shit, it stung like hell. "I do think I'm fine compared to you..." What was a burn compared to what England had just went through? Nothing He shifted slightly in the chair he sat on. trying find the most comfort in it. He knew he was going to stay in this chair for quite a bit, so might as well find the best spot on it. His head lay against the back of the chain, head looking up at the ceiling, thinking. Thinking of everything. Not just what they had gone through, but his whole life. Where had they gone wrong? When did this all spiral down into this? He blinked slowly as he closed his eyes, letting his mind drift into a meditative state, trying not to fall asleep. He was afraid to. Afraid that if he did, after everything, something would come in and take his life. There had been two instances where that would have happened, and by god they were worse than any Redcoat soldier or Native American there was. Shit, they were demonic little bastards to say the least. What kind of animals did this nation have? Obviously demented demonic bastard things. Eugh in the future, note to self, never come back to this country. Ever. Again.
Finally falling into a light sleep, he felt its soothing effects. His body felt so much better, even if it hadn't change. Just the rest was so amazing. The illness was still there, and he felt the need to go into another coughing fit, but closing his eyes and resting was perhaps the best thing that had happened to him. To have the chance to sleep was a wonder on it's own. A miracle to say the least. Perhaps whoever was up there finally had mercy and was giving him a break. America didn't care how long, the fact he was getting one was enough for him to be ever so grateful for. Napping numbed the pain, the burn on his arm, his emotions, everything. Whisked away as if he was nothing. Dear lord was this amazing. To think that he was deserving of this. He was not. He had declared war, was given the offer of freedom, and wasn't accepting it for the sake of just dragging it out. It was cruel, but he wasn't going to make a decision until he felt that his heart was at peace, and he new exactly what he wanted. Right now, it was not. His mind nor his heart. It was all hard to swallow, yet here he was, not making up his mind. He tried thinking of nothing in hopes that no recollections of the past would show up. He didn't need that, not now, not ever. He wasn't to look back, he was not allowed to look back. Freaking pain in the ass. Though from the light sleep he slowly awoke to words that he couldn't help but react to.
“All off this... just to end as allies...”
Blue eyes flicked to him quickly before giving a inaudible sigh. "Perhaps fate had it's own plans..." That wasn't what he wanted to say, but it had the best word choice for this moment. He wanted to say something along the lines of "Well it's better than being enemies forever", though at this moment that certainly wasn't going to fly. Between the both of them it wasn't going to sit well, at all. The moment didn't call for such a comment and therefore he was going to leave it at that. Alfred saw how Arthur was sat in his chair, looking so uncomfortable. He frowned. America knew damn well that he was the cause of England's pain, no one needed to remind him. Though it was something America was able to fix either. He'd done damage that was not meant to be fixed. He intended to just tear away, only leaving behind negative emotions so that England would not dare interfere with his business, so that America would be truly independent and not needing anybody. That was how he was going to prove it. By growing as a nation on his own. Sure, he had help from France and Spain in the revolution, but was he going to let them in on the way he handled his land? Fuck no. They were helping with military power, not anything else. He had gone into war all guns blazing hoping the outcome would turn into his favor. While it did, it was leaving behind a nasty aftertaste that wouldn't go away for quite a long time.
With the footsteps of people were heard, he turned his head to see if anyone was coming. And there were. A great deal of people actually. They were all meddling around with the severely wrecked parts of the library. He wanted to reach for his musket in case someone was going to do something but he resisted the urge and looked away from that, closing his eyes, trying to ignore the uproar, and what the hell was that loud wailing noise? Christ was this ruckus going to end. His lazily shifted his head to look. Flashing lights could be seen through the windows and a people came in, attending to the damage and asking around. Please don't come here, please don't come here. He wanted to isolate himself, isolate himself to just rest. that was all he fucking asked but it looked like he wasn't going to get that. A few people in uniform spotted the two weakened soldiers. Out of anxiousness Alfred began coughing roughly again. Shit man, he wasn't going to hear the end of this, was he?
"Sir, are you hurt?" Said one of the men in a rushed manner was one of them approached him and looked at his arm. "Is anything else hurt besides that?" Then a few others saw England and began to ask him questions as well.
Christ people, he wasn't even fully awake and he was already being bombarded by questions he didn't even know the answer two. Shit. Just shit. Rubbing his face he tried to find the right words as he tried to wake himself up. "Some... weird.... animal burned my arm..." If they fucking asked what kind of animal it was he was simply going to ignore it. Like fuck he knew what that freaky thing was.
The man then ordered the others to get some supplies. America was hardly paying any attention to them anymore. It was hardly worth it. He wanted to resume resting so that perhaps he would be in a slightly better mood to deal with people. At the moment he felt all screwed up, confused, hurt, everything. He didn't know what exactly to feel and think and his exhaustion was telling him that sleep was the answer to life, and sure as hell the young man was believing it. he let himself close his eyes to perhaps return, but he soon regretted it. He felt something being applied to his burn, and it sure as fuck stung. The colony yelped out his his eyes short open and his body stiffened. Shit, the fuck was this guy doing? The man then ushered Alfred to stand and follow him. What why? Though he did anyway, as if doing so would stop the onslaught of questions and whatnot. Though the man ushered him to start walking, and like a child starting off to walk he did so.
"Where... are we going?" He asked, so confused and tired.
"To the hospital so you and that other man may be treated." They had refused to visit the hospital before, but now they were being made to. Irony. The boy looked back. Wait, his musket! He needed that. He turned to get it, but the man grabbed his good arm, as if moving in any other direction besides the one he was made to go in was dangerous. he told America that they would hold his musket for him until he got better. Well then fine. America was putting faith into these people that they wouldn't go back in their word. That musket was the only thing he had as defense. It would suck if he was stuck in trouble yet again and not have it. He'd be dead. He could sue his physical strength to fight back but, sometimes even that wasn't enough. He could only do so much on his own. England made up for what he lacked, and now he wanted to break away from what held him up. He figured that if he became independent, sure, he would have no one to support him, but he knew, that if he fell, it wouldn't be anybody else's fault but his own, and maybe that way, he could learn. He looked back to England at the notion to see what the people were doing to him before slowly looking away. I'm still inside here A little bit comes bleeding through I wish this could have been any other way But I just don't know, I don't know what else I can do
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Post by England on Jul 22, 2010 10:06:47 GMT -5
"Perhaps fate had it's own plans..."
Fate... Fate had given him nothing but misery, fate had violated every part of him in so many ways. Fate was not something he cared for, not something he wanted to deal with, right now. “And what a cruel mistress...” It wasn't fair, not at all. All of this shit just to end up being fucking well allies? It was like salt into the wound. He knew, oh he fucking well knew that there was no way in the name of his king that he was going to get over this, not for a very long time at least. Being forced to work with the boy that was working so hard to cut him away was going to end up being someone he actually had to work with on a long term like whatever the hell was going to go down? Frankly it didn't seem fair. It didn't. In part he'd have rather been alone for the rest of his damn life, even though realistically he freaking well knew there was no chance that was going to happen. Did he like being alone? Who knew, perhaps, perhaps not, but in this case once the boy accepted, which he would (for of course no bird wanted its wings clipped), he wanted nothing to do with him.
No.
He wanted enough liqueur to drink himself into nothing, to drink himself into a fucking coma... Could he actually drink that? Could a country do such a thing? It was clear in many ways alcohol did not have the same effect on him as it would a normal human, for one he'd been drinking for thousands of years with no ill effect, something that would have killed a normal human. So perhaps it wouldn't actually be that possible. That and his king would probably have his head for treason if he tried, imagine that, a country tried for treason against their own country. Tsk, the man would probably try it. England didn't hate his leaders, England followed them like a loyal little dog, like the loyal little country he was. Yet he could resent them, and oh by hell he was coming to resent his damn well bastard of a king. This was his fault in so many ways. They'd been his taxes, his laws, his fucking inability to listen. He had a damn well superiority complex, just because he had the fucking largest empire at his call did not bloody well make him a god! England was just as much to blame though, was he not?
By definition a nation was the core and beliefs of their people, if the brits decided that all this shit was fair, then... didn't he have to? In part, yes. In part some of him wanted to crush this rebellion, to take what was his and rule with an iron fist. That part was inconsequential to him. People wouldn't ever begin to understand what they were, yes they were for the people, yes their beliefs could be influenced by them, but they had their own very real emotions. Arthur didn't want to fight, he had before in a way, he'd thought if he'd fought back the boy would see the error of his ways and give up to come running back. He hadn't. No, a nations views didn't always reflect the people's... Then though, perhaps they did... His men didn't really have the same spirit in this fight. Every one of them was worth their salt, yet he could tell a part of them just didn't want to fight. He closed his eyes to rub his temples, how many people were also fighting loved ones? No doubt some would be... And yet he knew it would be nothing like what he was going through. They hadn't raised someone for over 100 years, they hadn't given their heart fully to them, dropped all defences for them. They hadn't... They hadn't had that same person lead a war against them, the same person who wanted to cut the other out of their lives for good.... They would also not have to live with this for an eternity... Sometimes being immortal.... It really wasn't a good thing...
Then though all this noise kicked up, joy... Grunting roughly he hunkered down slightly, trying to block out the din, really, people here just didn't know how to let a man lay. They were always bustling about and getting in the way, always pulling some crap that would cause you to stop what you were doing in the name of something or another. Everyone did that though, in his experience it wasn't even just those that wished you harm that got in the way, even the well wishers could be problematic. Shifting slightly he thumbed the heavy cotton over his frame. Screw people, what he needed was like... A dog or something. Something good and British, like a Wolf Hound or something. They were pretty damn loyal, damn well knew when was best just to hang back too. Yet a part of him really just didn't want anything near him, he just wanted to slam heavy walls down and keep everyone out, America, Canada, Hong Kong, France... Especially France. Eugh, even the thought of meeting that bastard right now, that damn fag...! He, Spain, Prussia, all of them were helping America. And not even because they needed to! No, the fucking bastards were only doing so through their own hate, they wanted revenge... No doubt he was the most freaking hated person in the world at present... Wasn't he so very proud of that.
“You're hurt, sir?” looking up at the few concerned figures the response he tried to formulate came out as more of a huffing grunt, no shit. Chattering away between themselves quickly whatever they said went way over his head, he didn't even really begin to try and work it out. “If you could come with us, please~?”
Eyes narrowing slightly brows furrowed. “Where...?” Grunting as he stood he pulled himself up, back somewhat rigid as he held himself rigidly proud. Somewhere along the lines watching as America was ushered off... What? Tightening his grip on the musket he'd pulled up with him. Call it a reflex if you will.
One of the men blinked slightly. “Hospital of course, gotta get you checked out, hm~?”
Rolling his eyes he stepped forward. He knew exactly what was wrong with him, he'd been battered enough in the past to freaking pick out specific aches and pains, shaking his head as his breath hitched he just walked in the kind of rough general direction they were pushing him towards, which it seemed was out of the bu- The fuck was that? Some... Whatever... It was on Wheels? Okay, it was a vehicle, he got that, but... what? Like.... What? Ushered again he dug his heels in for a moment, really, they were expecting him to get in that thing? Were they mad?! Again with someone trying to push him forwards without the actual pushing he found himself taking damn well involuntary steps forwards until he was seated in the thing... Sly dogs! With an almost disgruntled pout he stared bitterly. You know what, whatever, he couldn't be arsed dealing with trying to work it out, slumping back slightly, face gaunt, he closed his damn well eyes and ignored the shit going on. It was nothing to do with him. Or at least, he didn't want it to be.
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America
Character
played by aniskywolf
Posts: 28
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Post by America on Jul 30, 2010 23:01:10 GMT -5
The men ushered him on as he was finding it quite difficult to move on his own. It was a pitiful notion really. Someone who was so vigorous just hours ago now was finding it hard to regain that lost vigor. Blame the illness that he now felt. That was still a mystery all on its own. How did it make sense the young man would never know, simply because he didn’t believe it made the slightest sense. Maybe when he was taken into better care they could tell him what was wrong. Yeah, that seemed like some good light amongst all this... gloominess now didn’t it? Well not really but it was somewhat of a... better direction depending on how you looked at the situation, and, considering, yeah, it was a turn for the better. He saw the... vehicle or whatever this... thing that didn’t look like a carriage at all, come closer as he got closer, doors in the back opening as he was told to step in and take a seat. He did so, at the very edge closest to the wall dividing the back and the cockpit. He rested his head against the wall and sighed a long, deep sigh, but not without coughing. His gaze fell upon England, who came in not long after him, before closing his eyes, trying to fall back asleep. And so they were on their way.
The ride wasn’t too long. The library was not far from the hospital, as that tourist a while back had pointed out. The ride was smooth as well, but how could he tell, he was sleeping the entire time. But he didn’t wake in the weird vehicle either. Once he began to emerge from his deep sleep, he could feel his body resting against something nice and soft. It was pleasant. Very pleasant. It had been quite a while since he slept in a proper bed. At least, he assumed it was a proper bed. Not until America had opened his eyes to discover his upper body was sitting up, though at an angle. He didn’t register it very quick but he could tell he was in a room, and what a strange room it was. After things became clear he startled himself with all the new looks to it all. Hell, even his attire had been changed to thin... gown of sorts. He looked around rather confused. Hell he felt lost again, but that wasn’t the least of his concerns. He began to feel around his face, feeling the small bandages and what not on his face. With a deep sigh he let himself fall back against the softness of the bed, which, was also strange. The fuck were all these buttons for? He looked beside him, a simple curtain dividing the room. Wonder who was on the other side...
A petite lady walked in, smiling as she approached the blond and sat in the vacant seat besides his bed. She was wearing a very plain outfit, with, whatever the hell that was around her neck. The blond looked at her, surprised. He wanted to say something but the woman beat him to it, by perhaps a millisecond or something towards that degree.
”Well, how are you feeling hotshot?” said the lady, laughing a bit. Alfred was personally confused by that. ”Not.. quite sure...” He rubbed his forehead and tried to think of what happened prior to awakening. ”Say... how did I make my way in here...?” He coughed right at the end of his statement. ”Oh, you were asleep so we took the liberty to fix you up a bit.” She blinked. ”You’re a heavy sleeper.” He raised a brow. ”I guess...” he shook his head a bit. ”Just... a long day. She simply nodded. ”Bet it was. You and your friend seemed pretty beat up.” He looked at the clipboard she had been holding. He quirked a brow and wanted to ask something about it, but refrained. ”You had bruising and cuts on your face and on other parts of your body, including the burn on your arm...” He looked at the patched up part of his arm. It didn’t seem to sting so much now. Wonder what they did. ”And you also have a case of the flu.” Oh, a simple little sickness? Was it that simple? Honestly, something so sudden and now it seemed to be something so simple. He wanted to doubt it but he wanted to keep it to himself as good news, whether it was or wasn’t was really how you looked at it. ”Really?” he said, a bit, surprised. ”Is there anything to get rid of it?” As far as he was concerned there was no cure for it. ”There’s medicines that can combat it, yes. We’ll give you it as soon as you’re safe to be released, but, you seemed to have also suffered from exhaustion, so, you should keep resting.” He sighed and laughed a bit. ”Oh, you have no idea...” A bit of his normal self was showing through. He blinked. ”Mind if I ask who’s on the other side...?” The lady blinked. "Oh, it's just your friend... uhm... a Mr. Kirkland... correct?" She was looking at her clipboard to make sure. He frowned and nodded. "That... would be him..." There was a slight emphasis on the "would". He looked away. "Well, if you need anything, please ask someone." And with that, she stood and left.
He watched her leave. So, despite it all they were still grouped together. Guess "separation" was going to be impossible for him. He wanted to say something to see if that was really him but he refrained. What did he care if He was there or not. He shouldn't. It was America's goal to disassociate himself with him and by god was he going to do it, but there was too much time to think. Too much was added on to the whole day, giving him too much time to think over his actions, to really see what he had done wrong. It was making him feel sick. He rubbed his face and continued to look around. What was that lit up box thing on the wall? There was people and words and whatnot in it. He confused expression came up on his face as he watched it. It was oddly hypnotic in a sense. It was keeping his attention to it fairly well. He read the words that came across the screen. The fashion of this era was really strange. And regardless of that, what the hell were those symbols? More Japanese, huh...
Though through all the strange words and speech patterns, the only things he could really understand were the images, and even then, without understanding what was being said, he was at a loss with what was really going on with the images. This lit-up box thing on the wall was really useless. An unamused expression came up as he rolled his eyes slightly before seeing himself walk out of the library. Wait what in blazes?! He leaned forward as he got a better look. That really was him and England! But... how was that possible?! How was it possible to take a previous moment in time and just... replay it like that? This day in age was really a mystery. He didn't understand it at all. Not in the least. It didn't help that he was able to see how pathetic he was, let alone the fact that he couldn't read the text at all so for all he knew it was probably mocking him. He figured people were going to ask the young rebel for answers as to what happened. Like fuck they would believe him. He sighed and folded his arms and he fell back against the strange bed."Tsk... this thing's demonic..." he stated flatly. It was a thing of fiction and it had just replayed a pretty pathetic scene of the soldiers. He blinked. Ah shit, what about his uniform? He should've asked that when the nurse was here. His hand met his forehead as he grunted. Well damn. When she came back, then he'd ask. With a sigh he wondered what he was to do while lying around. He whistled to himself a tune that he had become quite familiar with. Despite it all it was a nice song, better with the drums and the flute, but it was something. It was a simple little song that always raised his mood or made him feel at least a tad better. A simple little tune that all of America knew by the this time through the war.
Yankee Doodle keep it up Yankee Doodle dandy Mind the music and the step And with the girls be handy
And by god did the nation yell until his throat was sore. He had, he really had. America had fought until this point. Fought alongside his people to gain their rightfully deserved freedom. The Crown was doing all the wrong things and this sparked this whole conflict. It was their fault for ignoring all the tension was going on. The decided that the tension breaker was starting shit. Pft, how wrong of them. Finally, he felt all his regret wash away, or at least, recede back into his mind. Now he was beginning to feel the same spark that he felt before he was brought here. The same feeling of determination, yes. It felt good. For once, it felt nice. The feeling of being free returning to hid mind. Yes, this is how he wanted to feel. not all that rubbish he was feeling before, but this. A small smile came up on his face as he stopped, noticing another lady walk in and go to the other side of the room to where England was "supposed" to be to probably tell him his status and whatnot. He wasn't sure if he wanted to really trust on what his nurse said prior if that was really Arthur or not. Whatever. Rolling his eyes he put his hands behind his head, more bits of his normal self showing through again. The carefree feeling was coming back. He was away from war, and therefore he was beginning to feel much less tense and apprehensive. And it was a feeling he hadn't felt in a while.
And there I see a swamping gun Large as a log of maple Upon a deuced little cart A load for father's cattle And every time they shoot it off It takes a horn of powder and makes a noise like father's gun Only a nation louder
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Post by England on Aug 3, 2010 23:00:28 GMT -5
He watched for a time as as they prattled on, seeing from the corner of hooded eyes as America drifted off... At least one of them was content to do so freely. He himself was more being dragged into it inch by inch as adrenalin faded almost utterly, giving his weakened body all the excuse it needed just to drift off into a slumber... Which of course he did, the world around him merely falling away.
The problem with sleep they say, was that in such times your mind was open to regrets and hopes alike. They mingled into an elaborate crescendo, writhing until the stronger force would declare separation and come out as an individual tied to nothing. Whether it be hope or regret they would always be distinct, for a time they could brush together as a complete thing, and such splendid times there would be... Yet cracks would be there from the start, two things that were so different could not be one, and so they became two... And in England's mind regret was the dominant force. Regrets of so many things, so many things that had gone so very wrong in things. Of late the regrets were at a pinnacle, heightened with everything. It was so funny, so funny in the same sense that seeing your life ended was funny, oh it was utterly hysterical that the majority of his life was regret filled. Loneliness was there, it always had been, rejected by his own siblings, America now included. He regretted being alone, he regretted hurting America, he regretted everything... And so here was the ultimatum, did he regret living?
Of course those sweetly intoxicating tendrils of dream did come, and of course they were of regret... Because only the hero could be hope, the villain was regret... And was he not a villain? Such a fine villain yes. it was easy watching it all at a distance. A past him sat hunched and crying, tears pricking at the little child's face as he ambled forward as only a toddler could, asking with such tender innocence what was wrong. Yet oh to see such things suddenly change to a rain filled field, the boy yelling for independence from his tyrant of a brother... Brother, ah... Had they ever been? America should have simply been a possession to England, a possession worth no more than any other colony he had. No though, he'd decided in all his idiocy that something in America was different, that he was worth so much more, so much more adoration and affection. It all turned to sullen ash soiled by hate though, everything was gone... And there he was crying once more, bowed under the tree from only hours ago... Funny... The only real times he cried were for this boy... Why...?
Why only him?
What made him special? Why had England cared for him, cried for him, fallen for him into the state so many empires prior had fallen to. The cracks had started, England was weak, everyone saw it now. His empire was not as strong as they had thought, more revolutions would come from this one and his empire would fall. Those books prior had shown such. So why, why had h-- A shot. A single shot rang out, he knew so well it was for the hollow, and yet... And yet a part of him missed this detail.
Waking sharply he made something to a choked yelp as he sat bolt upright, screwing damp eyes shut he pulled his knees up slight. Damp... Wh- He was crying? Why? So many times was he to ask himself why, so many times and yet there was never any answers. With a shaky breath he was vaguely aware of voices on the other side of the curtain, quickly he caught that one was America... Despite it all there was relief in knowing he was safe, and once more he would ask, why? Falling back down to lay his mind this time processed that he was actually in pain and that moving at all, let alone quickly, was a bad idea as a whole. Curling onto his side he pulled the covers over his head, secluding himself to the ever lonely darkness. Really it was just like a blissful old friend long forgotten, yet now returning to reforge devilish bonds to forever time him into anguish. Was it a bad thing though? He'd always been alone, ever since he was little, it was what he did.... That small boy wandering on through the wilds of his lands, looking for the promises that tomorrow would never bring. His brothers were bullies, making life as the youngest hard at best. Once... He could so clearly see once as thunder clapped having wedged himself into the corner as loud bangs rang out, leaving the crying child a shivering heap. Oh and yet n matter how he'd called, how he'd called for anyone... There had been no one. There had never been anyone.... Why? Why was there no one?
The next day that tall bishop, that scary bishop, had come waltzing in, immediately scolding him for being on the floor rather than the bed. He was a child and yet not, parents he did not have, siblings he did not have... Friends... What were they? Was that a word a normal young boy should have? He didn't, he was a country and so he'd run amok, straight into the woodlands.... Straight to that special one.... A rabbit. Oh that rabbit, with it's soft fur that many a time had offered him the comfort no one else gave the feisty little brat... And then one day... One day it had died.... That was the first time his heart had been broken totally. It was also then that he'd first accepted loneliness as a whole, because he'd realised something on that day. He hadn't been alone, he'd had that one special friend, his best friend... And it had died to leave the raw wounds that pained him so dearly. This was.... So similar to that time. That rabbit had been his only true companion than, and he'd lost it... Alfred had been the person he cared for most... And again he'd lost them. Yet this time his loss would always be in his face taunting him, Alfred would always be there... Always there with England in the shadows where he perhaps had always belonged. Why though.... Why did it have to hurt so much....? He truly didn't know... Or... did he... had he always known why it hurt? Yes...
It hurt because he loved his brother, and in return he'd had his heart crushed... That was why... That had always been why...
"--irkland?" He blinked at the intrusive voice, pushing covers back to cast a weary eye up at here. "Ah, Mr Kirkland, you had me worried there~" He just grunted slightly, he didn't want to talk, not any more. He wanted to be alone, alone with a bottle oh whiskey and his own tales of woe that not one person would consider. "The painkillers probably have you a little drowsy there, I wouldn't worry~!" She was so loud... and so wrong... he wasn't drowsy, he just didn't want her there, not if she was just going to rabbit on at him obnoxiously. "Anyway~" she hummed in that tra-la-la voice. "You'll be happy to know it's nothing to serious. You have several cracked ribs, and obviously those nasty gashes to go with a slight case of the flu. A few cuts and bruises here and there buuuuut other than that you're as right as rain!" Giggling slightly she looked back the the box that had priorly held America's attention. "You and your little friend caused quite a stir." He's not my friend... he hates me. "You'll be pleased to know he's okay too, just a burn really~" I was to weak to prevent it... "What were you both doing anyways~?" It was my fault he got hurt... My fault he came to war... All my fault... I'm sorry... All he did to answer though was flick the covers back up over his head in ignorance, much to the nurses displeasure as she huffed and stalked out, muttering something along the way. Uncaring he curled himself up slightly, ignoring the sharp pains as his chest protested.
He had no reason to care, he knew why now... He knew why and it made sense...
Pointless.
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America
Character
played by aniskywolf
Posts: 28
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Post by America on Aug 20, 2010 22:16:31 GMT -5
Quite simply this was all just a large mess, yes? Utter chaos. Before on the battlefield he knew exactly what was occurring, knowing exactly what he had to expect and such. But here? Pft, he hadn't the slightest clue about anything at all. He was in an unfamiliar place in an unfamiliar time that was centuries ahead of him. It was kind of unfair really. Being put here without some sort of guide? That was freaking cruel.The hell. Sighing he brushed his blond strands of hair out of his face before gazing up at the ceiling, as if he was stargazing or something. Though with a slight frown on his face. There was really nothing to be smiling about in the least. After all, he was waging cruel war against his brother, what else was he supposed to do? Laugh about it? Oh dear lords no. Of course not. That was the absolute last thing. And if he did, it would never be around England, of course. That was just putting salt in the wound then picking at it.
Of course all he was to do now was lay there, he supposed. Or have a drink. His mouth was rather parched. And of course, a small cup of it was right next to him on a rather small table. He blinked. Was that there before? Oh well. Taking it he simple drank it in a flash. That... was almost nothing. It was a small paper cup, about as big as a shot of alcohol to compare it to something. Bah, at least he got something, right? Ah, that only brought back more thoughts. Before settlers came, he had just himself and no one else. All he had were the animals of the land as friends. It wasn’t a big bother really. It wasn’t until Sweden and Finland had come that he found that he wasn't sure how to interact with other people. Then France and England came, and boy did they bicker. As a small child he wasn’t very sure how to make of it. Instead he simply watched them. He thought about himself for a while. Now he had to deal with other people. It was more than anything he ever had, so one day, while out in the fields cuddling a small rabbit, England came up to him, and unlike all the other times, he didn't run. He simply faced the much older man with a small grin on his face. It was at least some company, right?
Well... yeah.
It was nice to have someone else like him around him. Sure he ran all the other times, but he realized deep inside that he really did like the presence of other people. The mention of him being someone's younger brother made him happy inside. He was quite happy with being the Brit's younger brother, indeed. And for over a hundred years... he quite happily was. Never faltering to make the older nation's day. It was just another day in the job of being the younger one. Growing up under English influence was just find and dandy at the time. Learning England's ways, his customs, his language. It just all came along with the package. Not that he minded of course. He simply smiled all the way through with a glowing smile.Though nearing the end of it all, things started to change, things were happening between them and their people, he was getting poorer, unfair laws were being made, the smile began to fade, and turned into almost a scowl. Then war broke out, and it was making him seem like he didn't appreciate all the things he was given. He sighed. He couldn't say he didn't, but he never acknowledged it.
One day... a "one day" before the war occurred, maybe he would have stopped and turned to say a "Thank You". Now, now he wasn't so sure if he could do that, if he was allowed to. He sighed and laughed inwardly to himself. A light chuckle. If anything it was to try and make himself feel better about things. Ever since they arrived here, things were calming down a bit. They were able to get some sleep, weren't they? Now they were in good care, right? He was trying to look at the bright side of things, optimism part of his charisma. It was like his job to be optimistic, to look at the bright side of things, more so as a child, when he just loved everything. Happy, rambunctious little boy he was. Now he was just a typical, rebellious teen, taking "rebellious" to a whole nother level. He looked to the curtain where England was on the other side, watching the nurse walk off in a huff. England was quite the crowd pleaser, wasn't he? He shook his head slightly.
"Least you're in one piece..." He said, his tone a bit less angry or pained as prior, as if a small load had been taken off his shoulders. "Could have been worse..." Perhaps the reason for his change of mood was the fact they were no longer in any situation he would have to use aggression, which would lead one to be more edgy. But now? Now the setting wasn't so intimidating, in fact it was more relaxing than anything. Though he wasn't sure how Arthur felt about all this. Perhaps he was still in the same mood. America wouldn't put it past him. After everything, England took this all very personally. His heart was very much damaged and his weeping from prior proved such. And seeing him like that, hurt him as well. They were hurting each other with this, and yet they kept on. Why? Hew wasn't sure anymore, and by the looks of things it seemed this was more of a political thing than anything. Oh the crazy shit they did for their people. No really. They were tearing each other apart for their people, as well as shoving other regrets in their for more proof as to why they should split. He frowned a bit before sitting up and crossing his legs under the thin covers of the strange bed, resting his elbows upon his knees and laying his head on his hands, trying to have everything that had happened in his head. So what now...
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Post by England on Aug 21, 2010 20:17:29 GMT -5
Through this world I’ve stumbled So many times betrayed Trying to find an honest word To find the truth enslaved Oh you speak to me in riddles and You speak to me in rhymes
When you hit rockbottom they say the only place you can go is up, they were wrong, he’d pretty much obliterated that. He’d hit rock bottom and yet still he was being dug deeper, further down than he actually wanted to go. There was little he could overly do about it, he’d just fall until he could push himself past it, or at least find a ledge to hang onto. It would be difficult to say the least, but... he had no choice. He couldn’t just stop and give up, he wanted to so badly, he had no desire to keep going right now, no need. Did Alfred see the true extent of the damage he’d caused? Probably not, but maybe so. Whatever the matter it was not something that would be changed, ever. This was his world now, one he was going to have to get used to. He really hated it already, with a passion. It was a matter not helped as Alfred spoke out... He didn’t want to exchange pleasantries with the boy... why... why would he?
"Least you're in one piece..."
On any other occasion he'd have scolded the other for his failure of the English language, of the lack of an 'At' on the start of the sentence. At any other time he'd given a shit, now he didn't. No, instead he was trying so hard, so very hard just to reject the fact the boy existed. Yet he couldn't, in his broken soul there was one thing, one singular thing, that every piece shared. They all had an undying affection to the boy, something only making this all the worse. "One piece?" Physically or mentally? No... No he wasn't in one piece, his mind, heart, and soul were all shattered into so many pieces, so many pieces that would never be repaired no matter what what was done. After all, when a heart was broken and you were left to fall alone there was no crutch, there was no one to catch you and tell you it was okay, to tell you to pull yourself together. He had no one to do that, nor would he ever. As the English empire all hated him, now all literally did, prior there had been one person who had not... Perhaps they were the individual who resented him the most now though...
With a grunt he narrowed eyes under the darkness of the blankets, though darkness was indeed a stretch at best as light leaked through invasively. "If you believe such then so be it, after all, who am I to question America?" It sounded far more bitter than he intended, far more pained and strained, far more full of the guilt and hurt he thought he was hiding. Whilst Alfred sounded lighter Arthur only sounded heavier as if his more and more weight was being shoved on his already strained mind. He was hurt, and he was angry, mostly with himself but that didn't stop him lashing out like some wounded animal pinned down between the rock and the hard place. It had been such a long time since he'd felt like this, so very long, and he remembered just how much he hated feeling so vulnerable. "And why are you attempting to offer comfort? Is this just a game to you...? Does this perhaps amuse you? Dammit boy just hate me, it would make this so much bloody easier...!" Hate... Hate he could deal with, hate he expected... But he didn't understand the boy's actions, it only hurt him more. "I.." The words died on his tongue as whatever resolve he'd been using fizzled right on out of existence, he didn't want to fight, he never had... But the English had a nasty habit of biting back only to shoot themselves in the foot. It was a talent that was far from positive.
"Could have been worse..."
Was.... Was that serious...? Did the boy think so little of everything? Even if only talking of the events that had only occurred in this time then it would still link, it would still link because how could it not? "How...?" That voice once so proud just sounded... Broken, defeated, just utterly fragile and without hope. "Tell me how you think... it could have been worse?" It could never have been worse for him, he'd lost everything, everything he'd loved had been ripped so brutally away by the core of such affection. They did say it was those closest to you that would hurt you the most, he supposed he'd lived to experience such... "And don't say death... Don't you dare... Because there are things so much worse than that..." This feeling of emptiness was worse than that, worse than death. And yes, yes he could say that. He'd seen death, he'd lived with death since he was so young. He knew it well, he'd danced with it many times, he knew how terrible that oblivion was, even for an immortal nation. Still though, he found this worse, very much so. He did not see how it could have been worse.
Without further word he lashed his hand up, throwing the covers off him before he scrunched his face trying to swallow down a cough which only made some kinda of strange muffled hacking noise. Still, it was a small mercy against his chest, and whilst yes there were pangs of pain with each jerk his body gave as he tried to stop himself, it was better than just damn well coughing. Fingers brushing slightly against his chest he pushed himself up to swing legs over the side, standing up in the none to gentlemanly night gown he’d been dressed in. Whilst his joints were cramped he didn’t stretch, doing so would have been idiotic at best, and he refused to be made a fool of again, much less by his own body. Something like that was rather unacceptable at best, diabolical at worst. Instead he grabbed the back of a chair by his bed, one no doubt there only for visiting family, a family that would never come simply for the fact he was in the wrong time and had none, none that much cared enough to actually turn up. Thus he dragged the thing, wooden feet squealing in protest as they pulled against the sterile floor. Really it was stupid to be up, he needed to rest, needed to sleep more, needed to get his head in order if such was actually possible. Yet like a good Brit he hushed down those physical hurts, pushed them down and hid them well enough to appear healthy, though perhaps the slight slouch and pursed lips were good indicators that something was wrong.
Letting the chair down in front of a window he sat, back rigid, one leg folded over the other as arms crossed over his chest. For every part he seemed like the man he always did, the only fault to his play acting was the fact his head was flopped forward, chin tucking against his chest. His mind was running circles with itself, chasing things in his mind round and round, he was exhausted but not in the physical sense, not in the sense that closing his eyes could resolve, not in the sense rest could resolve, but exhausted none the less. Funny how the thing that could resolve it was simple, one word in fact. One freaking word of seven letters that he’d never hear again, but that was all it took. The simplicity of it was astounding, so easy and yet so difficult. “Land of hope and glory,” he sighed out gently. “Dear Land of Hope, thy hope is crowned.God make thee mightier yet...” Once so long ago he’d been the land of hope and glory, this was his song, Land Of Hope And Glory. Ironic, fitting... Yet the low humming quality to his voice, it was without the passion he’d once sang the song with. “Thy fame is ancient as the days... Quaint, stupid sod...” Giving up before he’d even really started he rested his chin on the sill, ignoring the protests his body gave as his arms splayed out next to him as hands clutched at either side of his head. It was pitiful in a way, he knew it, yet he knew one thing at least, no one would see him like this. The curtain would not be pulled back, and no one would round it. This was the beauty of his life, but the burden of being a nation.
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America
Character
played by aniskywolf
Posts: 28
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Post by America on Sept 7, 2010 13:30:20 GMT -5
I saw the clouds part and watched you fall down down down down down the atmosphere was harsh on you your heart shrunk with the rest of you
"One piece? If you believe such then so be it, after all, who am I to question America?"
Rolling his eyes a bit he retorted. "I do wonder the same, because god forbid I question you." Yeah. It ended in war. So. "And look how that ended. Tsk." Stupid King George... stupid... eugh. "Your King is quite charming and it reflects rather well on you." he said sarcastically. Tsk. Freaking ass King George was. The hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just listen to the please of the colonists and give them a say in government? Or at least not respond so aggressively about it. They questioned, and what did that royal ass do? He raised and placed new taxes to shut the people up. And did that work at all? No. No it didn't. Dammit man. And England didn't seem to help at all. If he was helping anyone, it was his King. While that was understandable, it seems like Arthur was just fine and dandy with whatever unfair thing the King did, and you'd think he would have argued a bit about it, but, there didn't seem to be any hint of that. Whatever. What's been done has been done and there was no changing that. He had to fight his way out of tyranny and so he did. How well it worked he wasn't sure, but according to this future it seemed like things were doing fine, as were his people. But it still didn't explain why he was ill.
"And why are you attempting to offer comfort? Is this just a game to you...? Does this perhaps amuse you? Dammit boy just hate me, it would make this so much bloody easier...! I.."
"Oh yes. It was such a funny joke that I'm laughing my ass off." He grunted a bit. "And what makes you think I don't? Tch, once again ignoring key things. I've concluded that's just a part of you at this point." He folded his arms as he scowled a bit. "You what...?" Cutting himself off? Why? "If you want to yell at me and whatnot do it now, because pretty soon we won't be seeing each other for much longer." In a way he wanted them to part ways already and get over with. The fact they had to work together and the fact that they're once again in the same space together was quite unsettling and only making the tension worse. America himself wasn't totally pleased with the outcome, and was becoming irritable again, even if only to a slight degree. Perhaps the quicker he could get away from England, the better. Maybe then he could really do things on his own without the dependence he once had. He simply looked at the ceiling for a while, thinking. There was once a limit on what he could do, how far up he could go. He wanted to reach the sky, but he couldn't see it. He wanted to fly high like the eagles, but there was something in the way, and that was the British crown. The ceiling was blocking his view of the cloudless sky. The only way he could see it was if he could look out a window, but that was on England's side of the room. Typical.
"How...? Tell me how you think... it could have been worse?And don't say death... Don't you dare... Because there are things so much worse than that..."
"I was going to say you could have lost a limb but that works too I suppose." He rolled his eyes. "Shoving things in my mouth again. Oh you're on a roll today." Though he heard ruckus on Arthur's side of the room, the screech of chairs. Just what was he doing? Bah what did he care anyway. Whatever he did should not concern him anymore. After all, he had broken all ties with him, had he not? All that war was not for nothing. There was a purpose behind it. And he had succeeded in doing so. He had surrendered, and that was enough for him. Alfred had received his freedom and he was fine with that now. He was satisfied. There was nothing more that he wanted from England except for them to be far apart. An ocean apart, like they always were. But now, they were merely feet away, and as Arthur sung the song of his land, America couldn't help but roll his eyes and shake his head. The English Empire. Please. It was more like a tyranny with an iron fist that a decent monarchy. How things have changed. As leadership change, so did the ways that things were being done, and it seemed like as the years went on they only got worse. Well damn.
"I think we can agree on one thing though..." He started off "... that leaving this country as soon as possible would be quite nice." This should be true enough. This wasn't at all a country that they seemed to be familiar with in the slightest. In a way he also felt bad for what he had done to England but he couldn't fix that now, and the best way was to act... or at least show the resentment that he really did feel. It was sizable, but perhaps it wasn't at all the blinding rage he once felt. It seemed to have calmed down, but America was still in a mindset that didn't allow him to really calm down totally, even with this new environment he was put in. In a sense it was making him feel more tense, but in a way maybe it was just better that way. He could be more aware. Sighing he looked at the white curtain that divided the rooms, as if he could see through, and frowned a bit before looking away. There was no fixing what they ruined, was there?
when you thought you had nothing at all the clouds burst and you heard me call up up up up up up a trail of smoke as you hit the ground I've never heard a more painful sound
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Post by England on Sept 7, 2010 18:23:45 GMT -5
Maybe I'll never see you smile again Maybe you thought that it was all pretend; All these words that I could never say I just let them slip away
"I do wonder the same, because god forbid I question you. And look how that ended. Tsk. Your King is quite charming and it reflects rather well on you."
Flinching his arms folded across the sill, hands clamping hard on his elbows. Of everything that was perhaps the worst thing he'd said thus far... England was nothing like his king... Nothing... To say that was to imply that England was just as bad as that man who'd caused this, perhaps worse for letting him... But did America really think England had done nothing to attest? Had the boy always thought so little of him...? Probably, he was after all just a pathetic dog to his king. The man after all saw him as nothing but such, just a tool to fulfil his wishes. But of course, America's words were doing his king a favour. Kicking the dog whilst it was down. Not only down, but utterly out. Heart clenching as eyes once more stung he buried his face into his arms. "Of course, because a country is only as good as the leader." Just take the hits. That's all he could do. He didn't want to fight, not at all. His heart was broken utterly and for once he was fragile... The problem was that whilst like this the root of his pain merely kicked him further, ripping open more wounds he didn't want and couldn't bear. It was his own fault though... His own fault because America was right, he was no better than his bastard of a king.
"Oh yes. It was such a funny joke that I'm laughing my ass off. And what makes you think I don't? Tch, once again ignoring key things. I've concluded that's just a part of you at this point."
And there was the truth. A cold hard slap in the face, or perhaps a hard punch to the ribs. Either way there was the truth as plain as day for him to see, along with it went the hope that... it wasn't as bad as it seemed. It was though, how naive of him too have ever thought it was anything but. "I see..." He did. He was used to hate and thus he knew how it worked... He knew the meaning of hate in all its glory. This though was so different, different because hate had once been love. He felt so cold and empty, it was so... So different. He missed the warmth that he'd once had. He missed so dearly what that boy had given him and then taken. He'd always known there was a reason he'd been alone prior, it was because people being close to you was the most agonizing thing that there could ever be... And yet he just wanted that feeling back. That feeling that there was a point to everything, a reason for waking up in the morning and pulling yourself out of bed to actually... just continue... What reason did he have now? His people? Whatever... "I'm so pleased to know what you think of me, dear Alfred. I needed to know..." There was the barest hint of sincerity in the stoicish drawl. He had needed to know, it had been the worst answer but he'd needed it... It was okay though right? He was already to broken to break further... so it was okay that he was crushed without hope... It was okay that he was in agony... because America hated him and would want nothing but that... It was all okay...
"You what...? If you want to yell at me and whatnot do it now, because pretty soon we won't be seeing each other for much longer."
He didn't want to yell. That was the thing. He'd stopped for that reason alone, he didn't to fight. His spirit was gone, and as such the English empire was... Well what was it? He couldn't call himself that here because he was not. No, he was England... Or rather, Britain. He had so many names, so many things to people to call him and in this the one thing he wanted would never come about. He wanted a name he'd so long ago rejected but would never have, because as America said... He was just as much a bastard as his king. What right did that kind of person have to happiness? What right did he have? "I don't.." He blurted, voice shaky with just... Everything. Everything he didn't want and yet did. America wouldn't hear though, not the real meaning to it. The comment was again clipped, it wasn't a statement of not wanting to yell... because he did. He wanted to scream and shout until his throat was raw and bloody, but not... The real words? I don't want you to go. It was that simple. He wanted the boy to stay, and yet he knew he'd not. The boy would never hear his silent calls and pleas because no one ever did. Digging his face further into his arms eyes screwed shut knowing that by this point they'd be soaking his sleeves. He couldn't he was just so... he was so... Sorry... Shit...
"I was going to say you could have lost a limb but that works too I suppose. Shoving things in my mouth again. Oh you're on a roll today."
Dammit... Just damn him... Damn him to fucking well hell...! Grasping the side of his head with both hand his nails dug mercilessly into his scalp. He just couldn't do this... not any more. He was to tired and to broken to be able to really fight back, he couldn't. Really all the boy was doing now was torture. He was shoving knives in where they weren't needed, where they perhaps already were. It was unneeded but no doubt he'd continue, and England was just... To sick of it. He didn't want to continue on any more and so what could he do but offer silence? He wanted to leave but... without his clothes that was no option. Even now he retained some basic level of dignity. It was something hard-wired into him and alas it had pretty much become a reflex. Until he had his clothes he was stuck... He'd just have to ask when someone next came.
"I think we can agree on one thing though... that leaving this country as soon as possible would be quite nice."
What was the point agreeing? For one the boy had no clue what the fuck he was looking for, two he had no funds. True Arthur lacked the latter but he had the former and that was the key to this. "Yes, something like that..." What more was he meant to say? Nothing, there was nothing he could or even wanted to say. No, he just wanted to crawl into a bottle of cheap hooch and drink his life away because he knew... he just knew when America wasn't actually there he was going to feel so much worse. The boy was making him feel terrible, but in some small idiotic way it was a comfort. The boy had said he hated him. Rejected him... He'd destroyed his pride and cut him down to nothing... And that made England so utterly furious, but at the wrong people. He was helping America along with his destructive ways, self deprecation was just... Something he did. He wanted to yell so badly, yet he couldn't bring himself to do so. All he could do was tighten the grip on his head, nails digging in until they punctured skin to send a warm trickle down through his hair. He just couldn't...
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America
Character
played by aniskywolf
Posts: 28
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Post by America on Sept 7, 2010 19:47:52 GMT -5
"Of course, because a country is only as good as the leader." He opened his mouth to make a comment but refrained. At the moment, America had no leader. They were just a bunch of rebellious individuals wreaking havoc on their own land in order to break away from a far away force. It damn well worked, he gained freedom after all. And at the end of the day he had to tell himself it was well deserved, that he had no regrets about it. He had to throw up a facade that only showed resentment for the other. But on the other hand, he didn't want to do that. There was still that bit of him that wanted to stay in a way. To keep ties with England. Though another part, a very large part, said not to. that he was a tyrant and therefore he had to do whatever it took to break away and become independent. Well that was said and done. Now what? There was no way he could ever say sorry about something like this. At all. The damage dealt was too severe and no words could ever forgive it.
"I see... I'm so pleased to know what you think of me, dear Alfred. I needed to know..."
"That's not the only thing..." America himself was still not sure what he was to feel really, so in reality, he was feeling quite a bit of others, such as regret. That was one thing... but would he ever tell? Perhaps not... In a way, he had no right to show anything but resentment. If he did then obviously he'd seem stupid for starting a war in the first place. That all this damage was done for no reason. There was reason behind it, oh yes. He had not waged war against his own brother for nothing. There was reason. And the reason was no longer because he held resentment, but now, the more he thought about it, it was because he was tired of the British government constantly ignoring the rights the colonists had. He was just tired and he had enough, and what better way than to wage war. Being peaceful about it didn't work before, and what with the Boston Massacre, it seemed only to anger them all even more. And now he was tired of fighting. It was over with now. He was no longer fighting, God what was he to do? What was he to feel.
"I don't.." He waited for him to continue but he saw he wasn't going to. And by his tone it seemed like it was once again taking a toll on him. Sighing slightly he looked at the wall. Just what was he doing here anyway. He looked at his arm and saw some bandages on it. Oh a burn. So what? He had seen his own men and friends shot to death or lost limbs. So what was a small burn? He shouldn't linger around. Not at all. He moved to the side of the bed, bare feet touching the cold floor. With a deep sigh he dropped his head a bit. Fuck man. Rubbing his face all he could do was wonder how the war started, and how they ended up here in this ridiculous place. It was... strange. Quickly he raised his arm and coughed harshly into the crook of his arm. Dammit that's right, he was still sick. Well uhm. Yeah.
But there was something he needed to know. "... why did you fight back?" Surely, he could have chosen not to go into the front lines, right? But still, this would have been easier on both of them... maybe. Maybe, just maybe things would have turned out differently, maybe even in the slightest. It was one of those moments where you wished you could change something in order to change the future. While he didn't want to not be independent he wanted to change something so that maybe it wouldn't be this difficult to deal with, and no doubt England was taking it all in like a sponge. Just taking all the weight with him even though he didn't have to. Well what was he to know about how he felt he wasn't Arthur. Oh whatever. He was probably told to go to war so he had no choice but to... though.. eugh... He just wondered... that was all.
"Yes, something like that..." After all this was said and done. they would go their separate ways perhaps, and no doubt America would be lost utterly no doubt. He knew his way around his own land, not... this. This was going to be a pain in the ass and he knew it. Suppose he had more important things to worry about, didn't he? Oh fuck he didn't know anymore. Kind of just was up to him going with the flow now wasn't it? Oh dear.
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Post by England on Sept 7, 2010 21:01:34 GMT -5
"That's not the only thing..."
It was there though, and that was what mattered. "Regardless... At least I taught you one final thing..." It was the most important lesson of all. No doubt it would be the one lesson remembered the most. "It's rather imperative to know how to hate people." Releasing his head he looked briefly at bloodstained fingers... Though really he wasn't looking. His eyes had an almost dead feel to them, just as his voice did. He'd once been so full of fire and now... now he was just full of a crippling misery. Pity... but what could he do? Nothing. His chance of doing anything was long since past. There was nothing at all he could do because... Well... because he merely couldn't. There was only so much he could do before it was all to much. He just wanted to shut this all out and make it go away. Force it to the back of his mind so he wouldn't have to deal with it. All he could do instead though was ignore the stinging of his head and stair blankly at the blooded fingers until Alfred snapped his attention away.
"... why did you fight back?"
... what? Of all the things to ask why that...? He could lie and say he didn't know, only to make things worse. Not answering would do so too. In the end there was one option, one he didn't like... at all. "Because my king ordered me to..." Not asked, ordered... He'd been told to bring the boy back, and that he'd failed. He suffered to think how that bastard would react when he found out... "Because as an empire I'm not entitled to favouritism..." A colony had to be nothing more. As an empire he could not be afforded the luxury of compassion. "As a country it's my duty to fight no matter what..." Even when it broke his heart. "My king will accept no less than absolute success from his country." Because he had no choice but to fight. He was a country and so had had to fight, there was no other option. Not only that but he had to win. He knew... Oh he knew his king would be furious at him for giving up. News would get back to him and then... He didn't want to think about it. Had there been a choice... he wouldn't have fought... Wait... Perhaps he would, because there was one more reason. The one reason that was genuinely his own, because then he'd had hope... He needed that again. "And because I thought it was the only way..." The only way for what...? To stop him leaving... Because no amount of begging and pleading would have worked. He'd have last everything... Just as he had now. He'd been doomed from the start.
He'd tried so hard, but in the end he'd lost it all. A part of him had thought that if he'd fought the boy would just give up and come running back... He never had though. In the end England had never wanted to fight. He'd not once wanted to hold a gun to the boy that was once his brother, he'd never once wanted to hurt him... But the fact he'd questioned why England had fought meant that in some way he believed Arthur had wanted to. Even if subconsciously he'd thought his former guardian had wanted any of that. He'd not, never had he wanted that. He doubted Alfred would believe him had he even tried to say that... Because after all, wasn't it the task of a tyrant and monster to spin such sweet lies as to entice the fly back to the web of decaying decadence? What point was there? There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to say to him that... he never really had. He wanted to thank the boy, and to tell him how much he'd meant to him. Because he alone had been the only ever one who'd ever really shown any kindness to the old nation... He was the only one who'd ever shown compassion to him. He wanted to say thank you... and that he was so very sorry for destroying the boy's life so utterly. Yet how could he? America would laugh in his face and take his word as a cruel joke. He couldn't bear that.
There was nothing at all he could do to resolve this. He'd never be able to get the words from the tip of his tongue out, if only because Alfred would cut him down. Also though because a part of him was just too selfish and just.... scared. He probably had no right anyway, why were they even still speaking to one another? Alfred had made it clear he didn't want to be near England, had he wanted such he'd have never started this war. He wanted independence yet by talking to the man, even if to spit bitter insults, was to show some degree of dependency on him for conversational answers. By asking he wanted something. To be independent he couldn't do that, he couldn't ask for things as he had... Well he could, and it seemed he was. More the fool England for giving. Rubbing at his eyes for a moment he pulled his legs up, knees up to his chest whilst his feet rested on the edge of the chair. Of course he hissed with pain at the movement, yet he did it anyway. What was more pain after all?
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