Vanishing like so many empty words.
Who: America and England
When: Tuesday Evening
Where: England's room.
Summary: America's found a costume in his closet that hits far too close to home for England. In a sulk, he's sat in his room drinking, and America doesn't know how to leave well enough alone.
Rating: probably 15 for swearing.
Warnings: ANGST, historical references.
That was on purpose and England didn't know what he'd done to deserve it.
America knew, he fucking knew what that war had meant to England. It meant just as much to America. He couldn't have just worn it by accident. He could hear the rain now, pounding on the muddy ground of Yorktown, his musket dropping into the muck because he just couldn't do it. He couldn't kill his- America. He was weak and pathetic and if the wetness on his cheeks was any indication he was crying. Again. Over that idiot.
Idiot, idiot America.
Stupid bastard wasn't even wearing Texas, like he wanted to make a point. 'Look England I was so much smaller and less powerful and I still made you cry'.
England downed another bottle, and stared at the other half of the set that this scene needed. A red coat with two white belts lay on the bed across from him, after he'd found it in his closet.
He had half a mind to wear it just so he could punch America in the face.
For old time's sakes.
When: Tuesday Evening
Where: England's room.
Summary: America's found a costume in his closet that hits far too close to home for England. In a sulk, he's sat in his room drinking, and America doesn't know how to leave well enough alone.
Rating: probably 15 for swearing.
Warnings: ANGST, historical references.
That was on purpose and England didn't know what he'd done to deserve it.
America knew, he fucking knew what that war had meant to England. It meant just as much to America. He couldn't have just worn it by accident. He could hear the rain now, pounding on the muddy ground of Yorktown, his musket dropping into the muck because he just couldn't do it. He couldn't kill his- America. He was weak and pathetic and if the wetness on his cheeks was any indication he was crying. Again. Over that idiot.
Idiot, idiot America.
Stupid bastard wasn't even wearing Texas, like he wanted to make a point. 'Look England I was so much smaller and less powerful and I still made you cry'.
England downed another bottle, and stared at the other half of the set that this scene needed. A red coat with two white belts lay on the bed across from him, after he'd found it in his closet.
He had half a mind to wear it just so he could punch America in the face.
For old time's sakes.