sldkfjs I can't resist doing this, even if it's just in this meme ;3; SORRY FOR THE COPIOUS FRENCHcrotchrosesAugust 2 2011, 14:33:13 UTC
[France is standing, but just barely. The eerie glow in his eyes is flickering in and out with intensity.]
I-- It is still there, Anders. I never thought I would ever use these... Please, stand back.
[France levels his gaze; not at Anders, but right through him, at something intangible, distant. His limbs are hanging, his shoulders are slumped with exhaustion.]
C`est pourquoi les méchants ne résistent pas au jour du jugement, Ni les pécheurs dans l`assemblée des justes...
[Surprisingly enough, words with an eerie glow snake over France's visible skin. He shudders, fighting the screaming presence in his mind and body.]
Car l`Éternel connaît la voie des justes, Et la voie des pécheurs mène à la ruine--!
Pourquoi ce tumulte parmi les nations, ces vaines pensées parmi les peuples?
Pourquoi ce tumulte parmi les nations...
Tu les briseras avec une verge de fer, Tu les briseras comme le vase d`un potier...
[The entire time he speaks, Francis looks as though something is sending him harsh blows. His body jerks violently, and he doubles over, hands flying to his ears. Twitching fingers tangle in his hair, gripping it in quaking fists. He repeats the words, over and over.
Anders is welcome to come support him, although how willing he is to do so might be under question. The inky letters crawl out from him, writhe around him like a mass of scintillating words emitting a blue glow.
[Anders draws back a little instinctively, staring at Francis. The effect looks like a sort of magic to him and tingles his skin the same way, but it's unlike any magic he's ever seen. But as soon as the first unseen strike falls, he jerks into action, rushing to Francis' side and taking hold of him.]
I hope you know what you're doing, Francis... [Because he doesn't know what to do other than keep supporting the man and hope this ends before France does.]
HERE HAVE SOME CUTE ;;crotchrosesAugust 3 2011, 00:58:09 UTC
[France slumps against Anders, falling silent. The letters swirling around his feet subside, but they still crawl over his skin. If Anders happens to touch his skin, he won't feel anything peculiar, except a strange, cool sensation close to France's body.]
I was not lying when I said... that I have been thinking of you. I will make advances, but never with such violence. Love should never be forced...
ASDFHAF YESSSmagerightsAugust 3 2011, 02:36:40 UTC
[His arms automatically tighten around the man, supporting him and drawing him closer, as though that will somehow pull him away from those strange letters.]
You weren't in control. I know how that feels far too well. But that's not important, are you... [He eyes the letters doubtfully, unsure if he wishes they'd make sense more than wishing they were just gone.]
[Which is the truth, and he knows Anders knows that. France is trembling in his arms, and this feels so incredibly shameful to him.
The nation steps back, covering his face with a lettered hand.]
Psalms. They are ancient words of praise--they were turned to spells before I came to exist.
[He convulses as though in anger, but his face is covered; it's clear he's still fighting. In a way, Anders has given him a second wind.]
I will banish this spirit! I am France. Sachez que l`Éternel s`est choisi un homme pieux! L`Éternel entend, quand je crie à lui!
The guards die but do not surrender! [His hands and fingers twitch. The demon, spirit, whatever it was--it was fighting for its grip, but losing. Not without cost, however; he drags his trembling fingers down his face, pulling at his skin.
Abruptly, France looks sharply at Anders. His eyes are hardened in resolve; clearer, with the Psalms curling around his features like living, breathing incantations.]
I have not spoken them--... not since I was a child.
[Francis might have flirted and been difficult to convince to stop at times, but Anders believes he would never go any further than that without reciprocation from his potential partner. But he knows too well how a spirit, a demon, can twist that and turn it into something foul. If these Psalms can work and free the other man of this burden, then Anders hopes for Francis' sake that it works. He'd wish this life on no one.
He tenses up as Francis pulls at his skin, ready to step in and stop him from damaging himself if need be.]
Well it's working, that much is obvious. Is it still... inside you?
/tl;dring forevercrotchrosesAugust 3 2011, 21:17:33 UTC
It is still there, but it will not be for very long.
[France's expression shifts from simply resolute to hardened, determined and arrogant. Stiffening, he summons the last of his strength that he might hurl the darkness out and be rid of it. His shoulders are squared and he stands upright, as if standing before an army; to face something with honor even after having submitted to it.
If ever he has the appearance of a nation embodied, it would be now. His eyes are bright, but ancient and sharply focused.
The hand that extends and brushes Anders' cheek, however, is gentle and kind. With such a contrast, France feels the chasm between human and nation widen as it often does. His hand--his heart--is a bridge, reaching out.
He wishes he didn't feel what he does for Anders. He wishes he did not feel so old. Ah, but without those things he wouldn't be who he is, would he? One should have the freedom to listen to one's heart; and to speak from one's heart, and listen to the hearts of others.
Really; there was fucking, and making love with few strings attached, and then there was casual dating that would eventually, for Francis, end before it became apparent that he did not age. Then there was something sweeter; actual love, real love, the kind that doesn't happen every decade, or even every century. He is entirely too uncertain if this is what he's feeling, but Anders means more to France than a friend, or an ally, or a lover who happened to be all three.
God, those eyes--France loves them when they're concerned, when they're sad, even when Justice has overtaken them in his wrath; but especially when they are particularly loving.
What is his heart up to? He was always the one to fall first!
After he brushes Anders' cheek with his fingers, he cups the mage's chin in his hand.]
Je t'aime.
[He convulses, but only lightly; his feet remain steady on solid ground, and the darkness around him thins--it thins out to a smoke curling overhead.]
asdfaf I love this so much rn ;;magerightsAugust 4 2011, 01:40:38 UTC
[He has to admire Francis' strength, his confidence; perhaps if he'd had a measure of that all those years ago, Anders wouldn't have done what he did to Justice and himself.
Even with how much stronger the other man seems right now, Anders can understand that need to have someone close by, someone you could trust to support you when it felt like nothing else could, and he doesn't pull away from the hand that brushes his cheek. Francis' expression is more difficult to read than usual; sad yet determined and almost unfathomably old in a strange way. Blue eyes bright and hard despite the glowing letters curling and flowing over his skin, threatening to overrun him entirely.
It's one of the most beautiful things he's seen in his life.
Francis' hand brushes lower to take his chin gently, and Anders is reminded of a lover's touch. Not that of some of his dalliances both within the Circle and out - fast, breathless laughter, and an attempt to find distraction in another before returning to the life forced on them - but of the rare times when it was about feelings no one could afford to voice, only show in gentle touches and simply holding each other. It isn't something he's felt in a long time.
The smoke coiling away is the only thing that breaks his eye contact with Francis, following the path of it before his gaze returns to the pale man.]
I KNOW ME TOO omfg your tag was *GORGEOUS*crotchrosesAugust 4 2011, 02:49:13 UTC
[At a tearing sensation, France steps back abruptly and doubles over, coughing out a hideous mass of billowing black smoke. Unlike smoke, however, it's weighted and chaotic and churning, until it seems to collapse and disperse entirely. The letters begin to fade, except for the word amour on the inside of one of his palms.
France feels sleepy and empty--nothing sleep and good food can't fix, however. He feels like a freshly healed wound; still tender, but closed.
He can't seem to meet Anders' eyes, but he nonetheless reaches out both hands to him. To hold hands, or for a hug, it's up to the mage.
Well, the word on his hand is clear enough, and he decides to extend it so Anders can read it in the dimness of the man's room.]
YOU SAY THAT LIKE YOURS WASN'T??magerightsAugust 4 2011, 05:02:53 UTC
[Anders leans forward as Francis steps back in one swift movement, torn between his instinct to heal and the belief that the man knows what he's doing. He jerks back at the smoke that floods out of France, however. While possession isn't much of a concern for him (no vacancies, as it were), he doesn't want to risk touching the stuff. Fortunately it disappears quickly, and Anders focuses on Francis instead. Unsurprisingly, he looks tired, but more like a man recovered from a taxing illness than anything.
The mage is already moving closer to ensure Francis is recovering when the man reaches out for him, extending one palm upwards so Anders can see a glowing word there. He regards it hesitantly.]
I'm not certain I understand... What does it mean?
SDKJFLSKAD SCREAM this thread, it's just what i needed ;3;crotchrosesAugust 4 2011, 05:25:31 UTC
[As the word slowly fades, France's arms circle around Anders and the nation latches onto him, clutching at his back. There are explanations owed, that's for certain, but France can't be bothered to think on them this very second. His thoughts are centered on the living, breathing, kind man in his arms.
France waits until he is resting his head on Anders' shoulder to answer him.]
Appropriate, that this word should be the final one. It was 'love.'
[On comes the wave of guilt. These only happen when France was exhausted and sober.] I-- I'm afraid there's only so much apologizing I can do for what I've done.
[Anders shakes his head immediately.] You don't have to apologise. It wasn't you and... I know what that feels like, watching your body move and do things you'd give anything to stop, and you're trying to find a way to break through, but you just can't--
[He shudders faintly.]
I just... you don't need to deal with it on your own.
I-- It is still there, Anders. I never thought I would ever use these... Please, stand back.
[France levels his gaze; not at Anders, but right through him, at something intangible, distant. His limbs are hanging, his shoulders are slumped with exhaustion.]
C`est pourquoi les méchants ne résistent pas au jour du jugement,
Ni les pécheurs dans l`assemblée des justes...
[Surprisingly enough, words with an eerie glow snake over France's visible skin. He shudders, fighting the screaming presence in his mind and body.]
Car l`Éternel connaît la voie des justes,
Et la voie des pécheurs mène à la ruine--!
Pourquoi ce tumulte parmi les nations, ces vaines pensées parmi les peuples?
Pourquoi ce tumulte parmi les nations...
Tu les briseras avec une verge de fer,
Tu les briseras comme le vase d`un potier...
[The entire time he speaks, Francis looks as though something is sending him harsh blows. His body jerks violently, and he doubles over, hands flying to his ears. Twitching fingers tangle in his hair, gripping it in quaking fists. He repeats the words, over and over.
Anders is welcome to come support him, although how willing he is to do so might be under question. The inky letters crawl out from him, writhe around him like a mass of scintillating words emitting a blue glow.
Where do you think England got it from?]
Reply
I hope you know what you're doing, Francis... [Because he doesn't know what to do other than keep supporting the man and hope this ends before France does.]
Reply
I was not lying when I said... that I have been thinking of you. I will make advances, but never with such violence. Love should never be forced...
Please forgive me for the hurt I have caused.
Reply
You weren't in control. I know how that feels far too well. But that's not important, are you... [He eyes the letters doubtfully, unsure if he wishes they'd make sense more than wishing they were just gone.]
What are they?
Reply
[Which is the truth, and he knows Anders knows that. France is trembling in his arms, and this feels so incredibly shameful to him.
The nation steps back, covering his face with a lettered hand.]
Psalms. They are ancient words of praise--they were turned to spells before I came to exist.
[He convulses as though in anger, but his face is covered; it's clear he's still fighting. In a way, Anders has given him a second wind.]
I will banish this spirit! I am France. Sachez que l`Éternel s`est choisi un homme pieux! L`Éternel entend, quand je crie à lui!
The guards die but do not surrender! [His hands and fingers twitch. The demon, spirit, whatever it was--it was fighting for its grip, but losing. Not without cost, however; he drags his trembling fingers down his face, pulling at his skin.
Abruptly, France looks sharply at Anders. His eyes are hardened in resolve; clearer, with the Psalms curling around his features like living, breathing incantations.]
I have not spoken them--... not since I was a child.
Reply
He tenses up as Francis pulls at his skin, ready to step in and stop him from damaging himself if need be.]
Well it's working, that much is obvious. Is it still... inside you?
Reply
[France's expression shifts from simply resolute to hardened, determined and arrogant. Stiffening, he summons the last of his strength that he might hurl the darkness out and be rid of it. His shoulders are squared and he stands upright, as if standing before an army; to face something with honor even after having submitted to it.
If ever he has the appearance of a nation embodied, it would be now. His eyes are bright, but ancient and sharply focused.
The hand that extends and brushes Anders' cheek, however, is gentle and kind. With such a contrast, France feels the chasm between human and nation widen as it often does. His hand--his heart--is a bridge, reaching out.
He wishes he didn't feel what he does for Anders. He wishes he did not feel so old. Ah, but without those things he wouldn't be who he is, would he? One should have the freedom to listen to one's heart; and to speak from one's heart, and listen to the hearts of others.
Really; there was fucking, and making love with few strings attached, and then there was casual dating that would eventually, for Francis, end before it became apparent that he did not age. Then there was something sweeter; actual love, real love, the kind that doesn't happen every decade, or even every century. He is entirely too uncertain if this is what he's feeling, but Anders means more to France than a friend, or an ally, or a lover who happened to be all three.
God, those eyes--France loves them when they're concerned, when they're sad, even when Justice has overtaken them in his wrath; but especially when they are particularly loving.
What is his heart up to? He was always the one to fall first!
After he brushes Anders' cheek with his fingers, he cups the mage's chin in his hand.]
Je t'aime.
[He convulses, but only lightly; his feet remain steady on solid ground, and the darkness around him thins--it thins out to a smoke curling overhead.]
Reply
Even with how much stronger the other man seems right now, Anders can understand that need to have someone close by, someone you could trust to support you when it felt like nothing else could, and he doesn't pull away from the hand that brushes his cheek. Francis' expression is more difficult to read than usual; sad yet determined and almost unfathomably old in a strange way. Blue eyes bright and hard despite the glowing letters curling and flowing over his skin, threatening to overrun him entirely.
It's one of the most beautiful things he's seen in his life.
Francis' hand brushes lower to take his chin gently, and Anders is reminded of a lover's touch. Not that of some of his dalliances both within the Circle and out - fast, breathless laughter, and an attempt to find distraction in another before returning to the life forced on them - but of the rare times when it was about feelings no one could afford to voice, only show in gentle touches and simply holding each other. It isn't something he's felt in a long time.
The smoke coiling away is the only thing that breaks his eye contact with Francis, following the path of it before his gaze returns to the pale man.]
Is it...
Reply
France feels sleepy and empty--nothing sleep and good food can't fix, however. He feels like a freshly healed wound; still tender, but closed.
He can't seem to meet Anders' eyes, but he nonetheless reaches out both hands to him. To hold hands, or for a hug, it's up to the mage.
Well, the word on his hand is clear enough, and he decides to extend it so Anders can read it in the dimness of the man's room.]
Reply
The mage is already moving closer to ensure Francis is recovering when the man reaches out for him, extending one palm upwards so Anders can see a glowing word there. He regards it hesitantly.]
I'm not certain I understand... What does it mean?
Reply
France waits until he is resting his head on Anders' shoulder to answer him.]
Appropriate, that this word should be the final one. It was 'love.'
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[He's surprised, but his arms rest gently around Francis in return; he isn't rejecting him or pushing him away, even after that revelation.]
I see now...
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I hold no ill feelings toward you, but I think it's time I returned home.
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[The word is out of his mouth before he's thought about it, and Anders flushes faintly.]
Would you maybe stay a little longer, just to talk?
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[On comes the wave of guilt. These only happen when France was exhausted and sober.] I-- I'm afraid there's only so much apologizing I can do for what I've done.
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[He shudders faintly.]
I just... you don't need to deal with it on your own.
Reply
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