Re: Angel 1/3
anonymous
November 26 2009, 00:30:47 UTC
3rd April, 2035
“All I am saying is that it may be better if little England were to come and live with me for a while.”
“And all I’m saying is get lost,” America says, turning to glare at France who is sat on his couch. The day is pleasantly warm and the doors are open to the garden where England is playing, out of earshot holding a picnic with her teddy bears. “I don’t need you to take her, we’re doing fine.”
“My friend, I am not trying to steal her from you,” France says, his voice oddly low. “She will still be your state, I am simply saying that it may be better for her to stay at my place for a while. It can not be easy for you, having her here, that is all.”
“We’re doing fine,” America says, stubbornly. “I don’t need your help, or your charity. England is my state, she’s living with me.”
“As you wish,” France says with a sigh. “Just remember that I have offered you help, if you need it.
Outside, England trips and falls, landing on her ass. For a few seconds she just sits and blinks, as if she can’t quite believe it, then tears begin to well up in her eyes. She lowers her head, trying to hide them. America sets of across the lawn towards her, kneeling by her side and pulling her into a loose embrace. He tries not to think about how, if it had been any of his other states, he would have been out of the door as soon as they slipped. When he goes back to the living room, France is gone.
14th August, 2035
The thunder wakes America up. It takes a second for him to orientated himself after being shocked awake but once he’s full aware he hears the rain lashing against his window. He sits up in bed and looks out, not that he can see anything in the darkness, but the noise lets him imagine the big oak tree he’d planted here once long ago with England, a different England, bending in the wind.
The thought of the tree reminds him and he slips out of bed, grabbing his robe and heading out to check on his state. England has never liked storms, not bad ones. England has always been ok with rain, they get enough of it, but not these big storms.
He’s surprised when he opens the door to find his state sat against the wall outside, her knees drawn up to her chin, her face hidden.
“England,” he says softly, leaning down next to her. “Are you ok?”
Another roll of thunder, she lets out a little shriek and look up, her eyes wide. He reaches out instinctively, not able to bear the sight of her in pain, and pulls her into his arms. She goes easily enough, unwinding from around herself then wrapping herself around him, hiding her face in his neck. He lifts her up then carries her to his room, going to the windows first and pulling the heavy curtains shut then to the bed, climbing under the sheets with the child in his arms.
“There there, it’s ok,” he whispers, stroking her hair. “It’s only a little storm, there’s no way a storm like this and hurt you with an awesome guy like me around to protect you, ok?”
England nods against his shoulder and he smoothes a hand over her hair. Odd, it seems curlier now then he remembers it being when she first came to him. She’d changing, the longer she’s his state.
“Why were you sat out there, little angel?” he asks, stroking her hair. “You should have just woke me up if you were scared.”
“Didn’t want to make you sad, I’m ok,” came the mumbled voice. America pauses. Was he really acting so oddly around this child, so different that it made her afraid to come and crawl on to his bed when she was scared? He’d never had this problem with any of his other states, but England wasn’t just a normal state.
“Listen,” he says softly. “What really makes me sad is you being unhappy, and what really makes me happy is making you happy, but I’m an idiot so I don’t always know what to do so you have to tell me. It’s ok to tell me you’re scared.”
“I’m scared,” she whispers, the words barely a breath.
“I know, Angel,” he says, “But you don’t need to be, I promise that nothing will ever hurt you.”
Angel 3/3 (comment before is 2/3, anon=fail T_T)
anonymous
November 26 2009, 00:31:45 UTC
19th October 2035
America paces up and down his living room. It feels empty, the entire house feels empty. No noise, no other person living here. He’d thought letting England go with one of his other states for a while would be a good idea, it would let him catch up on his work, not that quite little England ever stopped him working. It would let him get his head straight, there had been almost no time between the old England and the new England, he needed to think.
He’d found, though, that thinking only made things worse. How did you weigh England against England? How could you simultaneously mourn and welcome an entity that, while not the same, was similar enough. His angel would have never been born if his lover didn’t die.
He’d thought it wouldn’t be so hard to be alone in the house again, but he’d been wrong. England is quiet and unassuming but she has a strange way of making her presence known through the house, and he misses her.
When the door opens and Florida comes bouncing in, pulling England by her hand, he doesn’t even think. He’s so glad to see her, he runs across the floor, sweeping England into his arms and hugging her tight.
“Welcome back, Angel” he says, squeezing her to him. “Have you had a good time at Florida’s place?”
England flushes, not used to this attention, and nods. He grins and hugs her tighter. Maybe it was about time she got used to this attention.
21st November 2035
They throw a party for England to celebrate the day Maine found her. They would have celebrated on the day she came into being but America decided the day she came home would be more fitting. She wore a gingham dress that Idaho wad brought for her and her hair was tied into two pigtails by Florida, her favourite big sister.
They were in the living room, a cake in the middle of the coffee table, England kneeling next to it, staring at it. A lot had changed about her in a year, sometimes America couldn’t believe how...well...America she had become, but there was still that core of England in her, that strength and patience that he would always love, no matter what form it came in.
It was still awkward, sometimes. When she frowned that frown that was, in his mind, special for Arthur, and he was struck again by the knowledge that Arthur was gone...but it was better, easier. Arthur was Arthur, Angel was Angel...it was best not to compare.
She turned to look at him, smiled, then gestured for him to come over. He heard her saying something to Florida about how he had to be here for it to start, then he smiled and makes his way into the room.
“All I am saying is that it may be better if little England were to come and live with me for a while.”
“And all I’m saying is get lost,” America says, turning to glare at France who is sat on his couch. The day is pleasantly warm and the doors are open to the garden where England is playing, out of earshot holding a picnic with her teddy bears. “I don’t need you to take her, we’re doing fine.”
“My friend, I am not trying to steal her from you,” France says, his voice oddly low. “She will still be your state, I am simply saying that it may be better for her to stay at my place for a while. It can not be easy for you, having her here, that is all.”
“We’re doing fine,” America says, stubbornly. “I don’t need your help, or your charity. England is my state, she’s living with me.”
“As you wish,” France says with a sigh. “Just remember that I have offered you help, if you need it.
Outside, England trips and falls, landing on her ass. For a few seconds she just sits and blinks, as if she can’t quite believe it, then tears begin to well up in her eyes. She lowers her head, trying to hide them. America sets of across the lawn towards her, kneeling by her side and pulling her into a loose embrace. He tries not to think about how, if it had been any of his other states, he would have been out of the door as soon as they slipped. When he goes back to the living room, France is gone.
14th August, 2035
The thunder wakes America up. It takes a second for him to orientated himself after being shocked awake but once he’s full aware he hears the rain lashing against his window. He sits up in bed and looks out, not that he can see anything in the darkness, but the noise lets him imagine the big oak tree he’d planted here once long ago with England, a different England, bending in the wind.
The thought of the tree reminds him and he slips out of bed, grabbing his robe and heading out to check on his state. England has never liked storms, not bad ones. England has always been ok with rain, they get enough of it, but not these big storms.
He’s surprised when he opens the door to find his state sat against the wall outside, her knees drawn up to her chin, her face hidden.
“England,” he says softly, leaning down next to her. “Are you ok?”
Another roll of thunder, she lets out a little shriek and look up, her eyes wide. He reaches out instinctively, not able to bear the sight of her in pain, and pulls her into his arms. She goes easily enough, unwinding from around herself then wrapping herself around him, hiding her face in his neck. He lifts her up then carries her to his room, going to the windows first and pulling the heavy curtains shut then to the bed, climbing under the sheets with the child in his arms.
“There there, it’s ok,” he whispers, stroking her hair. “It’s only a little storm, there’s no way a storm like this and hurt you with an awesome guy like me around to protect you, ok?”
England nods against his shoulder and he smoothes a hand over her hair. Odd, it seems curlier now then he remembers it being when she first came to him. She’d changing, the longer she’s his state.
“Why were you sat out there, little angel?” he asks, stroking her hair. “You should have just woke me up if you were scared.”
“Didn’t want to make you sad, I’m ok,” came the mumbled voice. America pauses. Was he really acting so oddly around this child, so different that it made her afraid to come and crawl on to his bed when she was scared? He’d never had this problem with any of his other states, but England wasn’t just a normal state.
“Listen,” he says softly. “What really makes me sad is you being unhappy, and what really makes me happy is making you happy, but I’m an idiot so I don’t always know what to do so you have to tell me. It’s ok to tell me you’re scared.”
“I’m scared,” she whispers, the words barely a breath.
“I know, Angel,” he says, “But you don’t need to be, I promise that nothing will ever hurt you.”
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America paces up and down his living room. It feels empty, the entire house feels empty. No noise, no other person living here. He’d thought letting England go with one of his other states for a while would be a good idea, it would let him catch up on his work, not that quite little England ever stopped him working. It would let him get his head straight, there had been almost no time between the old England and the new England, he needed to think.
He’d found, though, that thinking only made things worse. How did you weigh England against England? How could you simultaneously mourn and welcome an entity that, while not the same, was similar enough. His angel would have never been born if his lover didn’t die.
He’d thought it wouldn’t be so hard to be alone in the house again, but he’d been wrong. England is quiet and unassuming but she has a strange way of making her presence known through the house, and he misses her.
When the door opens and Florida comes bouncing in, pulling England by her hand, he doesn’t even think. He’s so glad to see her, he runs across the floor, sweeping England into his arms and hugging her tight.
“Welcome back, Angel” he says, squeezing her to him. “Have you had a good time at Florida’s place?”
England flushes, not used to this attention, and nods. He grins and hugs her tighter. Maybe it was about time she got used to this attention.
21st November 2035
They throw a party for England to celebrate the day Maine found her. They would have celebrated on the day she came into being but America decided the day she came home would be more fitting. She wore a gingham dress that Idaho wad brought for her and her hair was tied into two pigtails by Florida, her favourite big sister.
They were in the living room, a cake in the middle of the coffee table, England kneeling next to it, staring at it. A lot had changed about her in a year, sometimes America couldn’t believe how...well...America she had become, but there was still that core of England in her, that strength and patience that he would always love, no matter what form it came in.
It was still awkward, sometimes. When she frowned that frown that was, in his mind, special for Arthur, and he was struck again by the knowledge that Arthur was gone...but it was better, easier. Arthur was Arthur, Angel was Angel...it was best not to compare.
She turned to look at him, smiled, then gestured for him to come over. He heard her saying something to Florida about how he had to be here for it to start, then he smiled and makes his way into the room.
For now, this is good.
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this is wonderful and so sad ;__;
i'm glad that alfred managed to become more :) towards angel at the end
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