Careless Gestures [1a/?]
anonymous
March 6 2010, 09:52:21 UTC
“You all have no idea what we're up against!”
America was speaking - shouting, even - across the entire board room, and not a single voice piped up to contradict him.
“They'll wear away at our governments, little by little, like rain wears away at stone.”
He was shaking now, fists clenched and recoiled to his sides. Nervous glances flitted across the room, as allies sent each other worried glances. Canada had taken advantage of his invisibility to move closer to America should he need to be restrained. France's near-constant lecherous expression had been wiped off of his face as soon as he noticed the blond's posture - straight as a ruler, the straight of trained soldiers going into battle, the weary posture of fighters who were waiting for the shot to be fired from the next shadowed alcove.
“By the time we've realized that something's wrong,” America continued, his voice now low and restrained, “It'll be too late - the water will have seeped into our very foundation, and collapse will be eminent.”
Meanwhile, Germany was staring at the man at the podium, mouth nearly falling open. This wasn't like America. This wasn't like the gratuitously optimistic and raucous nation at all.
“You have to realize that we can't destroy what we can't control...”
Not at all.
“...and that we can't control what we turn a blind eye to!”
God save them.
Russia was wearing a look of mild discomfort at the blond's tirade. There was something about the American's words that put him on edge. It reminded him of days he'd rather forget; the machinations that had fueled uprisings and revolutions and years of suppression. The familiar ache of unrest returned to his bones... the memories of burned manuscripts and hidden writings and great men whose talent was suppressed by force and the iron fist of the government.
Talk like that did not suit America. The talk of control and surveillance reminded Russia of an alcohol that was far stronger than his precious vodka, and it was evident that America's tankard had been full of it. There was no doubt that the little blond had had his full. His eyes were bloodshot and his words reeked of the intoxicating brew of paranoia.
“The bastards want to scare us. They want to scare us to death and take a couple hundred lives while they're at it.”
It was like 9/11 all over again, the large man noted, and attempted to suppress the indignant feeling flooding through his veins at the patronizing tone the American had taken. As if he was the only nation that had experienced grievous acts of terrorism. The Slavic nation had had his fair share of attacks, and he certainly didn't go berserk every time it happened. He wasn't passive about them either.
“If we just stand back and let them infiltrate our very institutions of freedom...”
Careless Gestures [1b/?]
anonymous
March 6 2010, 09:54:15 UTC
Russia bit back a snarky laugh and shook his head. Incurring the right of freedom in a speech that preached surveillance. Only America.
Speaking of historic victims of terrorism... Russia leaned back in his chair to look where England was sitting, noting the man's alert posture and the hands fisting tightly into his knees, where America couldn't see them.
“...everything that we had ever fought for will be ground into dust.”
The Briton watched the proceedings with a mix of awe and fear. This was not the boy he had found in the golden fields of the New World, and it definitely wasn't the democratic crusader who had come to his side in the first World War. This new America had captured the attention of every single nation attending the meeting, but he was also catapulting himself into a war that could not be won - a game of cat and mouse that would destroy every ounce of humanity he had.
America's pretty words were laced with insanity, and England prayed to whatever god that ruled up in high heaven that it was just a phase, that they could cure him of it. Prayed that that sweetheart with the big blue eyes would come back.
He could feel the invitation through the fabric of his pants, and his heart dropped for a second as he fingered its edges. What if he never came back?! Had he been too cautious? Acted far too slow?
What an idiot, losing his love before he even had him. Letting him fall into the depths of insanity.
There he was, still talking.
“They will take us from the inside!”
The feverish words were accompanied by sudden hand motions. As his movements grew more animated, his tone of voice raised in pitch, until his speech had reached climax.
“They will exploit our trust,” he warned, looking down, and raised his right hand towards the audience in the shape of a gun.
“...And take us down...” An eye, the color of restless waters, closed as he cocked the imaginary hammer and lined it in his sights.
“...One...” America's hand scanned the audience, resting on various nations, but always moving on.
“...By...” China, Denmark, Russia. The hand paused for a long while, as if American was contemplating his choice very carefully, then moved on: France, Japan, Russia, Germany...
“One,” England. The hand had stopped at England as America opened his eye and pretended to shoot: “Bang.”
Wow, a second fill that's totally different from what I expected (all three are so different from each other!); this is intriguing and just a bit chilling. I'm looking forward to where you're going with this, Anon! ♥
Re: Careless Gestures [1b/?]
anonymous
March 6 2010, 17:25:05 UTC
O_o Holy... Author!anon of the previous fill thinks that you have this prompt DOWN. This is...powerful and terrifying and...and...it's the perfect concentration of the sentiment that a portion of the American population feels and this idea that "shoot them before they shoot you" which I think makes the whole thing between America and England that much more powerful! And the ending of this part, where America aims at England, it's like he's comparing what England did to what terrorists do now. And America...losing his humanity. You have to wonder what citizens actions and sentiments can do to a personification, whether they start acting this way by choice, or if it's almost inevitable. I'm sorry, I'm just completely awed and amazed. This is fantastic anon. I can't wait to read more.
WOW! I really didn't expect this to take this direction, and boy, am I glad I didn't because this was such an amazing surprise! England's thoughts are chilling, particularly the part where he's in fear but also awe. The description of America makes me shudder, and it's such an excellent allegory of the tense political affairs in this past ten years... But I was also surprised by this
Russia was wearing a look of mild discomfort at the blond's tirade. There was something about the American's words that put him on edge. It reminded him of days he'd rather forget; the machinations that had fueled uprisings and revolutions and years of suppression. The familiar ache of unrest returned to his bones... the memories of burned manuscripts and hidden writings and great men whose talent was suppressed by force and the iron fist of the government.
OMG so intriguing! I'm always interested in Russia-America interaction and thoughts on each other. Fascinating, and it was also beautifully written, this particular part
I can't wait to see what you have in store for us, what everybody's reactions will be. You have me anxious, authoranon!
America was speaking - shouting, even - across the entire board room, and not a single voice piped up to contradict him.
“They'll wear away at our governments, little by little, like rain wears away at stone.”
He was shaking now, fists clenched and recoiled to his sides. Nervous glances flitted across the room, as allies sent each other worried glances. Canada had taken advantage of his invisibility to move closer to America should he need to be restrained. France's near-constant lecherous expression had been wiped off of his face as soon as he noticed the blond's posture - straight as a ruler, the straight of trained soldiers going into battle, the weary posture of fighters who were waiting for the shot to be fired from the next shadowed alcove.
“By the time we've realized that something's wrong,” America continued, his voice now low and restrained, “It'll be too late - the water will have seeped into our very foundation, and collapse will be eminent.”
Meanwhile, Germany was staring at the man at the podium, mouth nearly falling open. This wasn't like America. This wasn't like the gratuitously optimistic and raucous nation at all.
“You have to realize that we can't destroy what we can't control...”
Not at all.
“...and that we can't control what we turn a blind eye to!”
God save them.
Russia was wearing a look of mild discomfort at the blond's tirade. There was something about the American's words that put him on edge. It reminded him of days he'd rather forget; the machinations that had fueled uprisings and revolutions and years of suppression. The familiar ache of unrest returned to his bones... the memories of burned manuscripts and hidden writings and great men whose talent was suppressed by force and the iron fist of the government.
Talk like that did not suit America. The talk of control and surveillance reminded Russia of an alcohol that was far stronger than his precious vodka, and it was evident that America's tankard had been full of it. There was no doubt that the little blond had had his full. His eyes were bloodshot and his words reeked of the intoxicating brew of paranoia.
“The bastards want to scare us. They want to scare us to death and take a couple hundred lives while they're at it.”
It was like 9/11 all over again, the large man noted, and attempted to suppress the indignant feeling flooding through his veins at the patronizing tone the American had taken. As if he was the only nation that had experienced grievous acts of terrorism. The Slavic nation had had his fair share of attacks, and he certainly didn't go berserk every time it happened. He wasn't passive about them either.
“If we just stand back and let them infiltrate our very institutions of freedom...”
Reply
Speaking of historic victims of terrorism... Russia leaned back in his chair to look where England was sitting, noting the man's alert posture and the hands fisting tightly into his knees, where America couldn't see them.
“...everything that we had ever fought for will be ground into dust.”
The Briton watched the proceedings with a mix of awe and fear. This was not the boy he had found in the golden fields of the New World, and it definitely wasn't the democratic crusader who had come to his side in the first World War. This new America had captured the attention of every single nation attending the meeting, but he was also catapulting himself into a war that could not be won - a game of cat and mouse that would destroy every ounce of humanity he had.
America's pretty words were laced with insanity, and England prayed to whatever god that ruled up in high heaven that it was just a phase, that they could cure him of it. Prayed that that sweetheart with the big blue eyes would come back.
He could feel the invitation through the fabric of his pants, and his heart dropped for a second as he fingered its edges. What if he never came back?! Had he been too cautious? Acted far too slow?
What an idiot, losing his love before he even had him. Letting him fall into the depths of insanity.
There he was, still talking.
“They will take us from the inside!”
The feverish words were accompanied by sudden hand motions. As his movements grew more animated, his tone of voice raised in pitch, until his speech had reached climax.
“They will exploit our trust,” he warned, looking down, and raised his right hand towards the audience in the shape of a gun.
“...And take us down...” An eye, the color of restless waters, closed as he cocked the imaginary hammer and lined it in his sights.
“...One...” America's hand scanned the audience, resting on various nations, but always moving on.
“...By...” China, Denmark, Russia. The hand paused for a long while, as if American was contemplating his choice very carefully, then moved on: France, Japan, Russia, Germany...
“One,” England. The hand had stopped at England as America opened his eye and pretended to shoot: “Bang.”
Not a sound.
Reply
Reply
Author!anon of the previous fill thinks that you have this prompt DOWN. This is...powerful and terrifying and...and...it's the perfect concentration of the sentiment that a portion of the American population feels and this idea that "shoot them before they shoot you" which I think makes the whole thing between America and England that much more powerful! And the ending of this part, where America aims at England, it's like he's comparing what England did to what terrorists do now.
And America...losing his humanity. You have to wonder what citizens actions and sentiments can do to a personification, whether they start acting this way by choice, or if it's almost inevitable.
I'm sorry, I'm just completely awed and amazed. This is fantastic anon. I can't wait to read more.
Reply
But I was also surprised by this
Russia was wearing a look of mild discomfort at the blond's tirade. There was something about the American's words that put him on edge. It reminded him of days he'd rather forget; the machinations that had fueled uprisings and revolutions and years of suppression. The familiar ache of unrest returned to his bones... the memories of burned manuscripts and hidden writings and great men whose talent was suppressed by force and the iron fist of the government.
OMG so intriguing! I'm always interested in Russia-America interaction and thoughts on each other. Fascinating, and it was also beautifully written, this particular part
I can't wait to see what you have in store for us, what everybody's reactions will be. You have me anxious, authoranon!
Reply
The others remebering past events and the uk doing this is so perfect.
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment