Lost Time [1a/?]
anonymous
April 11 2010, 08:30:45 UTC
So. Much. Anxiety. Shaking like Latvia a leaf by the time I finished typing this part. OTL Please be nice. This is my first fanfic EVAR, never mind it being my first fill. *fidget* And going back for the details this needed was physically painful. T^T Upon re-reading the end of part three of the original, I am thoroughly convinced that Al took the shot on purpose. Which was my first instinct the first time through, but then my brain shut down completely. Oh, and there’s a little bit of universe jumping going on here, so if someone gets really lost, drop a comment at the bottom and I’ll clarify. Also, I apologizing for failing so hard at England. Apparently, writing him is much harder than it should be. orz
The United States of New Colombia hated February 16th. It didn’t matter that it was a national holiday, that February 16th marked the day he had finally won the right to be a country in his own right. It especially didn’t matter that is was as close to a concrete birthday as a Nation ever got. He hated it. Because, while it was the day he and his people had won their independence, it was also the day his twin brother had died. And even though it’s been almost two hundred years since his brother spun him out of the way, took the burst of buckshot himself and died with a smile... Matthew still wakes up crying, some nights. And he hates England, the former British Empire, with every fibre of his being and every square inch of the massive country he represents. And it shouldn’t be so large. So much of the land he represents was meant to be his older brother’s... But Arthur, the British Empire, shot and killed his brother, and now all this land, most of the North American continent, belongs to Matthew. Because Alfred has been gone for almost two hundred years. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America, hated February. Especially Canadian Februaries. Because really, he loves Canada dearly, but his place is just so damned cold. And why, Alfred wonders distantly, is his flight to London stopping at one of Matthew’s airports, anyway? Someone had explained it to him when he’d asked, but when the flight attendant had tried to explain it to him, he’d subconsciously tuned her out and consequently remembered none of the answer to his question. So now he was waiting in the Departures section of some international airport somewhere in the Maritimes, and it was chilly, even inside the building, despite the heater. Alfred really, really hated Canada’s winters. Twelve hours later and a few insanely drawn out layovers later, Alfred arrives in London and catches a taxi to Arthur’s house.
Lost Time [1b/?]
anonymous
April 11 2010, 08:32:43 UTC
Arthur Kirkland tried to be patient, he really did. But there were things in this world that one simply could not be patient with. One Francis Bonnefoy And after a particularly mortifying episode involving France, nudity and an unfortunate maid, Arthur decided he’d had more than enough. Once Francis had been removed from the house, firmly placed on a plane back to his own country and the poor maid had been returned to her home to calm down and rest, Arthur had finally gotten up the nerve to take drastic, magical measures. Arthur had buried himself in one of his more archaic tomes and had eventually, with much swearing and sneezing, unearthed a spell that would (theoretically) keep one specific Frenchman from waltzing up to and through his blasted front door without permission. The fairies did not approve, warned him that it was dangerous, that one small mispronounced word, one botched glyph, even a slight hesitation could cause disastrous results. More than a little peeved that his ancient, mythic friends so doubted his skill, Arthur had tersely declared that ‘I’ve been at this for bloody centuries, I think I can handle one sigil and one incantation without blowing up the whole sodding world’ and the fey had left him to his devices, muttering to themselves about consequences and ineptitude. Arthur seethed internally and returned to his work. More than an hour of carefully copying glyphs and tweaking the necessary incantation later, Arthur finally had his spell at the ready. As all more... conventional methods of keeping Francis from invading his home had failed at least once, Arthur had moved on to a more elaborate set up. He intended to create a dimensional blip around his house. This ‘blip’ would only react to France’s unannounced and unwanted intrusions. Instead of allowing the Frenchman to approach and enter the house, space would simply hiccup and deposit Francis on the opposite side of the property. Once the spell was in place and active, unwanted visits of the French variety would be a thing of the past. Grinning maliciously at the thought of Francis trying and utterly failing to get within ten feet of his home, Arthur stepped into the center of the sigil draw on the floor and began to read his incantation. He was not expecting Alfred to burst through the door. He wasn’t expecting Alfred’s wet sneaker to smudge the lines of the glyphs, altering the meaning of the sigil. He was most certainly not expecting the world to blur at the edges and fall away, leaving him and his former colony falling through empty, spinning space. He was also not expecting to land face first on the floor of a surprisingly familiar room.
Lost Time [1c/?]
anonymous
April 11 2010, 08:35:42 UTC
Doh. Just noticed LJ is fucking up the paragraph spacing. DAMMIT. Pretend there's more space there.
Colombia was relieved. February 16th was almost over, and when the date finally rolled around to the 17th, the aching gap in him where his twin brother should have been would go back to aching only once in a while, and life could resume its usual course for another year. As he waited for the day to change, he sat on the edge of a too-large bed and watched the leaves of the trees and the grass of the lawn dance in the soft breeze and ran a hand through his bear’s fur.
There was a loud crash in the living room. Matthew stood abruptly, tumbling Kumajirou off his lap and onto the floor, and dashed down the stairs and around the corner before skidding suddenly to a halt. The United Kingdom of Great Britain was picking himself up off Colombia’s living room floor.
For a moment, his mind was blank. Then, with a feral cry -why today, of all days!- Matthew launched himself at the former empire.
England didn’t even manage to look up fully before Matthew smashed into him, knocking him back onto the floor. Arthur let out a hoarse cry of his own as the small of his back smashed against the hardwood flooring. He vaguely registered Matthew above him, violet eyes full blazing hatred and face flushed with rage, before the former colony started scratching at his eyes.
Arthur threw out his hands to defend his face and felt Matthew’s nails dig into the skin, almost drawing blood. Desperate and more than a little confused Arthur yelled, “Wh-what the bloody hell?! Matthew, what are you-! Canada! It’s me!” And Matthew stopped for a moment.
Colombia looked down at England, holding out his hands to defend his face, and calling him Canada. No one had called him that in... Since...
“I know who you are.” England opened his eyes slightly, and looked at Matthew in confusion. And fear. Colombia spent a moment relishing in the fact that the former British Empire had the decency to be at least a little bit afraid. Coming here, to this house... “Mattie! What the hell?!”
Colombia jolted. It was more than impossible... But... That voice...
Slowly, Matthew looked up, past England to the figure standing behind the couch.
Eyes wide in terror, Colombia shrank away from England and skittered back to the corner. Because this wasn’t possible, and if it wasn’t real, then something was very, very wrong with him.
Because his dead brother was standing behind the couch, staring at him in alarm.
I know I flipped tenses at least once up there. *facepalm* Also, I depressed myself immensely. God, the Colombia!Matt universe kills me. I am convinced that alot of that bit at the end is full of fail. *hides*
Re: Lost Time - Part One Notes
anonymous
April 11 2010, 08:38:04 UTC
February 16th, 1815 was the day that America ratified the treaty ending the War of 1812, so, sticking with the original author’s ironic use of real historical dates, I used that for New Colombia’s confederation a.k.a. the anniversary of Arthur’s douche-baggery at the end of ‘Every Generation’.
I feel the need to apologize for the fail!narration at what Arthur’s spell was supposed to do. OTL And I totally hijacked the idea from the “Loop” card in Cardcaptor Sakura. XD Except it’s like... anit-loop or something. I donno, I just find the image of poor Francis being like ‘WHY CAN’T I GET TO THE DOOR!? D:’ epically funny.
I also decided to steal borrow the idea of having part of a quote for the title. XD I’m original, shut up. And browsing quotes made me cry. orz Emotional Author!Anon fails just a little. The full quote is Lost time is never found again, quoting Benjamin Franklin.
And yes, Al tuning out the flight attendant is totally me being too lazy to think of a logical reason. Massive OTL.
Re: Lost Time - Part One Notesgeministar01April 11 2010, 16:45:42 UTC
I had a stop-over in Canada last time my family went to Europe. Forget why though. (Also, given my relationship to the original prompt, I thought it might be best to de-anon myself, just this once. Hope you don't mind. :3)
Love it so far. Arthur's plot to keep Francis out is a hoot, and you totally get bonus points for actually explaining what he was trying to do with the spell and why it would mess up this way instead of just saying, "He was doing magic and poof! It messed up."
And, oh, Columbia. I just love him here, especially how England dropping into his house on that particular day just completely sets him off. It's pretty much perfect, and I can't wait to see how they're going to handle this.
*points and squeaks* You.. You.. *brainslode* Thankyou, you just made my day. And I am very, very glad the stopover thing was logical. XD I pulled that outa my butt and decided ten miutes later that it really had to be there for something at the end. I am flattered and slightly intimidated by your de-anon. Of COURSE I don't mind, it's your universe!!
I'm still trying to figure out how they get from here to where I know they are at the end. OTL Random bits here and there, but... >.<;; Would you mind terribly if I put this on fanfication.net?
*happy fangirl squeal* You're so fast! This is awsome! Though you forgot to post it in the Fill List. Don't worry, I fixed that for you. :)
Ah, I don't know where to start with why I love this. Colombia's personality, right down to his attacking England for showing up on *that day*? The nice little touches that coincide with the original story? The bits of humor? (Loved Arthur's plot to magically trick Francis, BTW, that's ingenious.) There's just so much here that's good, it's hard to believe it's your first fic!
Re: OP (here comes author!anon)
anonymous
April 11 2010, 17:40:05 UTC
The next bits probably won't be so fast. And thank you for fixing that. It was almost three up here when I posted. OTL In case you didn't notice, my brain has been thoroughly eaten by this prompt.
Everyone seems to love the whole 'anti-loop' thing. XD I still don't know where that came from. It was just THERE all of a sudden. I should ponder these things in the bathtub more often. Apparently I'm a genious in the tub. XD
Re: Lost Time - Part One Notes
anonymous
April 11 2010, 17:02:20 UTC
That is a glorious image indeed.
But dang, from Columbia's reaction, I can't help but wonder when the last time he and Arthur met face to face was. Also insanely curious as to how him and Alfred are going to react to each other.
Also, I apologizing for failing so hard at England. Apparently, writing him is much harder than it should be. orz
The United States of New Colombia hated February 16th. It didn’t matter that it was a national holiday, that February 16th marked the day he had finally won the right to be a country in his own right. It especially didn’t matter that is was as close to a concrete birthday as a Nation ever got. He hated it.
Because, while it was the day he and his people had won their independence, it was also the day his twin brother had died.
And even though it’s been almost two hundred years since his brother spun him out of the way, took the burst of buckshot himself and died with a smile... Matthew still wakes up crying, some nights.
And he hates England, the former British Empire, with every fibre of his being and every square inch of the massive country he represents. And it shouldn’t be so large. So much of the land he represents was meant to be his older brother’s...
But Arthur, the British Empire, shot and killed his brother, and now all this land, most of the North American continent, belongs to Matthew.
Because Alfred has been gone for almost two hundred years.
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Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America, hated February. Especially Canadian Februaries. Because really, he loves Canada dearly, but his place is just so damned cold. And why, Alfred wonders distantly, is his flight to London stopping at one of Matthew’s airports, anyway?
Someone had explained it to him when he’d asked, but when the flight attendant had tried to explain it to him, he’d subconsciously tuned her out and consequently remembered none of the answer to his question.
So now he was waiting in the Departures section of some international airport somewhere in the Maritimes, and it was chilly, even inside the building, despite the heater.
Alfred really, really hated Canada’s winters.
Twelve hours later and a few insanely drawn out layovers later, Alfred arrives in London and catches a taxi to Arthur’s house.
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Once Francis had been removed from the house, firmly placed on a plane back to his own country and the poor maid had been returned to her home to calm down and rest, Arthur had finally gotten up the nerve to take drastic, magical measures.
Arthur had buried himself in one of his more archaic tomes and had eventually, with much swearing and sneezing, unearthed a spell that would (theoretically) keep one specific Frenchman from waltzing up to and through his blasted front door without permission.
The fairies did not approve, warned him that it was dangerous, that one small mispronounced word, one botched glyph, even a slight hesitation could cause disastrous results. More than a little peeved that his ancient, mythic friends so doubted his skill, Arthur had tersely declared that ‘I’ve been at this for bloody centuries, I think I can handle one sigil and one incantation without blowing up the whole sodding world’ and the fey had left him to his devices, muttering to themselves about consequences and ineptitude. Arthur seethed internally and returned to his work.
More than an hour of carefully copying glyphs and tweaking the necessary incantation later, Arthur finally had his spell at the ready. As all more... conventional methods of keeping Francis from invading his home had failed at least once, Arthur had moved on to a more elaborate set up.
He intended to create a dimensional blip around his house. This ‘blip’ would only react to France’s unannounced and unwanted intrusions. Instead of allowing the Frenchman to approach and enter the house, space would simply hiccup and deposit Francis on the opposite side of the property. Once the spell was in place and active, unwanted visits of the French variety would be a thing of the past.
Grinning maliciously at the thought of Francis trying and utterly failing to get within ten feet of his home, Arthur stepped into the center of the sigil draw on the floor and began to read his incantation.
He was not expecting Alfred to burst through the door. He wasn’t expecting Alfred’s wet sneaker to smudge the lines of the glyphs, altering the meaning of the sigil. He was most certainly not expecting the world to blur at the edges and fall away, leaving him and his former colony falling through empty, spinning space.
He was also not expecting to land face first on the floor of a surprisingly familiar room.
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Colombia was relieved. February 16th was almost over, and when the date finally rolled around to the 17th, the aching gap in him where his twin brother should have been would go back to aching only once in a while, and life could resume its usual course for another year. As he waited for the day to change, he sat on the edge of a too-large bed and watched the leaves of the trees and the grass of the lawn dance in the soft breeze and ran a hand through his bear’s fur.
There was a loud crash in the living room. Matthew stood abruptly, tumbling Kumajirou off his lap and onto the floor, and dashed down the stairs and around the corner before skidding suddenly to a halt.
The United Kingdom of Great Britain was picking himself up off Colombia’s living room floor.
For a moment, his mind was blank. Then, with a feral cry -why today, of all days!- Matthew launched himself at the former empire.
England didn’t even manage to look up fully before Matthew smashed into him, knocking him back onto the floor. Arthur let out a hoarse cry of his own as the small of his back smashed against the hardwood flooring. He vaguely registered Matthew above him, violet eyes full blazing hatred and face flushed with rage, before the former colony started scratching at his eyes.
Arthur threw out his hands to defend his face and felt Matthew’s nails dig into the skin, almost drawing blood. Desperate and more than a little confused Arthur yelled, “Wh-what the bloody hell?! Matthew, what are you-! Canada! It’s me!” And Matthew stopped for a moment.
Colombia looked down at England, holding out his hands to defend his face, and calling him Canada. No one had called him that in... Since...
“I know who you are.” England opened his eyes slightly, and looked at Matthew in confusion. And fear. Colombia spent a moment relishing in the fact that the former British Empire had the decency to be at least a little bit afraid. Coming here, to this house...
“Mattie! What the hell?!”
Colombia jolted. It was more than impossible... But... That voice...
Slowly, Matthew looked up, past England to the figure standing behind the couch.
Eyes wide in terror, Colombia shrank away from England and skittered back to the corner. Because this wasn’t possible, and if it wasn’t real, then something was very, very wrong with him.
Because his dead brother was standing behind the couch, staring at him in alarm.
I know I flipped tenses at least once up there. *facepalm* Also, I depressed myself immensely. God, the Colombia!Matt universe kills me. I am convinced that alot of that bit at the end is full of fail.
*hides*
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I feel the need to apologize for the fail!narration at what Arthur’s spell was supposed to do. OTL And I totally hijacked the idea from the “Loop” card in Cardcaptor Sakura. XD Except it’s like... anit-loop or something. I donno, I just find the image of poor Francis being like ‘WHY CAN’T I GET TO THE DOOR!? D:’ epically funny.
I also decided to steal borrow the idea of having part of a quote for the title. XD I’m original, shut up. And browsing quotes made me cry. orz Emotional Author!Anon fails just a little. The full quote is Lost time is never found again, quoting Benjamin Franklin.
And yes, Al tuning out the flight attendant is totally me being too lazy to think of a logical reason. Massive OTL.
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Love it so far. Arthur's plot to keep Francis out is a hoot, and you totally get bonus points for actually explaining what he was trying to do with the spell and why it would mess up this way instead of just saying, "He was doing magic and poof! It messed up."
And, oh, Columbia. I just love him here, especially how England dropping into his house on that particular day just completely sets him off. It's pretty much perfect, and I can't wait to see how they're going to handle this.
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I'm still trying to figure out how they get from here to where I know they are at the end. OTL Random bits here and there, but... >.<;;
Would you mind terribly if I put this on fanfication.net?
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Ah, I don't know where to start with why I love this. Colombia's personality, right down to his attacking England for showing up on *that day*? The nice little touches that coincide with the original story? The bits of humor? (Loved Arthur's plot to magically trick Francis, BTW, that's ingenious.) There's just so much here that's good, it's hard to believe it's your first fic!
Still waiting excitedly for the next part!
OP
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Everyone seems to love the whole 'anti-loop' thing. XD I still don't know where that came from. It was just THERE all of a sudden. I should ponder these things in the bathtub more often. Apparently I'm a genious in the tub. XD
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But dang, from Columbia's reaction, I can't help but wonder when the last time he and Arthur met face to face was. Also insanely curious as to how him and Alfred are going to react to each other.
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T-this anon eagerly awaits the next part. *A*
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