Anatomy of the Infinite [5b/14]
anonymous
July 6 2010, 05:19:05 UTC
A limousine waited for him outside the Millennium. England looked at the great black beast with a blank expression before realizing what it was.
Manhattan raced past the limousine windows. Everything was fast-forwarded-the man eating his hotdog took vicious bites, the bicycler flew past the pigeons, which circled him in a whirlwind of grey-
England couldn’t hear them, but he knew that cars were honking by the millisecond.
Apparently he’d voiced it, because the aide beside him said, “It’s called the New York minute, sir. Funny term-from a film, I think.”
“New York minute?”
“The time between two cars honking, sir. If you look at it from a different way, though, I think it goes on infinitely. I mean, cars are always honking in this city.”
England leaned his head against the leather of his seat and felt very, very old, and very, very out of place.
Too much glass, he thought as he climbed the steps to the United Nations Headquarters. Too much glass and not enough brain cells in this place-in this ridiculous review conference, in the countries gathered for it-in America and Turkey and Japan and France-
England froze mid-step on the stairs, vaguely noticing the suited men around him stop too.
France.
France, that bastard son of Rome. That whoresome lech, that pest that would not be crushed, not in Crécy and not in Poitiers and not in Cravant, that had the gall to rise and bite him in the ribs at Castillion, still a seething wound that the nurses floundered at bandaging, because of him he was on his thirteenth horse now and the first seven had all been fed to the creatures in Rouen-- was he here, did he think smearing Bureau’s actions in his face wasn’t enough, that Talbot’s death wasn’t grand enough…good, lovely, gone, faithful Talbot-
“Sir Kirkland! Sir Kirkland!”
The voices behind him were garbled and blurry, as if muddled with and under water, and he ignored them as he raced up the steps into the building and sprinted through the halls with the cavalry on his heels.
England sped into another wing, drawn by the inexplicable sense that all Nations had of each other, and wrenched open the door before him.
“France!” He roared. All noise in the room ceased. “France, where are you?”
The silence was shrill. Only for a brief moment, though, because then the Nations rolled their eyes and turned to each other again, weary of the spats between the two countries. One of them emerged from the din towards England with an expression he couldn’t quite place.
I do love you, I do, I do.
“Arthur, Francis hasn’t arrived yet-“
“You,” England quivered-quivered, an interesting word, hadn’t the bard coined it himself?-- trembled, blood simmering, and lunged at the Nation. “France, you coward-“
The other Nation stepped into the hallway, one hand on a door’s handle. “I-Arthur, he’s not-I’m not-“
France was slipping away. He was slinking away like the shell of a creature he was, and England wanted to-wanted to-
(“Should I die an Achilles for my Nation, then I may die in the beauty of thy peace,” did Talbot whisper, a flower of blood blossoming through his armor, grass stains around his eyes as they gazed at England, love and love and love-“And I may die well.”)
--wanted to see France alive and writhing in the pain of his own blood.
Anatomy of the Infinite [5c/14]
anonymous
July 6 2010, 05:21:00 UTC
A sword. A sword, why did he not-there, it would have to do, England seized a lance six heads high by the door, toppled the-strangely heavy-metal into his arms and wrenched a flag, a flag of all things attached to it off of it, and then kicked the red and white fabric away from his feet.
France was gaping. England smiled.
“Arthur, Arthur, you-you’re unwell, you-you need to put that down, this is insane-“
“I am no madder than the last,” he crowed, “and you, Sir Bonnefoy, are indeed the last!”
England surged towards him. France stumbled, gave the staff in his hands a wild glance, and fled.
He chased him down the hallways and past people and their exclamations until the two burst out into the sunlight of the plaza.
“England,” cried the Nation before him, and he was caught for a moment by the sun glinting off the gold of his hair, “you have to stop--“
“It is you, my friend, who needs to stop cowering behind the skirts of your generals,” spat England, before making for the Nation again. There were birds skidding into the air around them, too fast for him to see what color or what kind, feathers racing past his eyes as he pursued the other man into-
Into a great wide mess of a land, trails of flags dotting the sky and people blurring around him, everything moving going watching leaving, swallowing him as he ran and ran, heaving the lance that wasn’t a lance under his arms-
“England!” France bellowed. He spun and saw the Nation waving at him, now behind him, people and rows and universes away from him but somehow closer to him than he ever was as he stood stranded in the middle of-
“England!” Cried France again, and he stilled now, arms slackening, because-because it wasn’t France, that Nation, like France but infinitely more beautiful than him, gold blinding England’s eyes-
”England!” He wanted him to be quiet but never stop talking, there was his name spilling from the Nation and birds screeching all around him and things hurtling past him and the wind pounding into his heart-England gasped and turned, tie flapping into his mouth-
He blinked once as another “England!” drowned in his ears, before the car from East 42nd Street collided into him and the world exploded.
Btw, in real life the United Nations is, in my opinion, kinda boring. Skip it if you visit NYC (and go to the Whitney Museum instead! It’s full of out-there modern art, takes less than 2 hours to explore, and has ROTHKO! It is a gem).
And hello, anon-who-knows-who-I-am! /faintly alarmed
RESEARCH NOTES!
The Millenium is a real, super posh hotel situated in the United Nations Plaza in NYC. It’s very shiny.
England is at the UN for the 2010 Review Conference for the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons, held from May 3rd to May 28th. America, Japan, and Turkey all gave speeches/statements and there was a lot of posturing and promising. The entire conference can be summarized as the nations going ‘I really don’t feel like getting rid of my nuclear stuff because it makes me feel manly, but I swear all I’ll do with them is polish them every night before bed! Also Iran you scare me’
England’s mind is floating in the Hundred Years’ War, when lances were most popular and animosity between the English and French was at one of its highs. The War ends with France’s Jean Bureau killing English general and hero John Talbot, which the English were pretty sore about. Sore enough that Shakespeare immortalized him in a couple plays.
The conversion between lances and flag poles is actually historically canon, although not the way England uses it, ahaha. Wikipedia says that the American cavalry and Canadian North-West Mounted Police (!) both used a ceremonial lance as a flagstaff.
The semi-seizure that England has is a symptom of general paresis of the insane, a disease ? idk what it’s categorized as /shot caused by neurosyphilis, and also the one responsible for memory loss.
Oh fuck anon, every chapter you post breaks my heart a little more. ;_; I'm tempted to say "Oh, England" but that's a different AU. *shot* The little moments of lightness - "Shouldn't you be in school?" and the flagpole lance - just makes everything else hurt more.
I normally don't like spiralling downward, going-to-get-five-billion-times-worse-before-it-gets-better fic, but this one hurts so good. *whimper*
And I really love your research notes. ♥ Jus' saying. :)
yes, A VERY BRILLIANT AU THAT I LOVE YOU FOR MENTIONINGGG! /shot too
eee thank you, anon! i was kind of afraid that the flagpole lance would seem too out there and wtf-worthy, so i'm glad it worked out. and THANKS AGAIN ♥ i enjoyed writing them!
Oh, Canada, my poor, poor Nation. You cannot win, can you? Though I bet that is the first time he's been mistaken for France. And that title... is AMAZING. I aprove. So much.
England talking to the fire fighter made me laugh, and I feel rather bad about that. Oh, England. That would have been even funnier if it wasn't under such heartrending circumstances.
Also, HOLY CRAP. ENGLAND. CAR. BAM. OAGOEGOIG OH MY GOD!!
Now if you'll excuse me, I will stop rambling incoherently and go to sleep.
Oh gosh, totally echoing the sentiment here in wanting to say 'oh England'. And I feel bad for Canada too. I almost want to laugh at England nearly burning the hotel down, but then I remember that the circumstances aren't funny at all then I baw a little ;;
Excellently done as always~ I'm really enjoying this fill <3
So. I'm not sure if I've told you this lately, but I love you. You're taking my prompt, and you're making it easily one of the most incredible, memorable fills of the meme.
The beginning was...I don't even know what it was. It was beautiful. Taking his normal fail cooking skills and making them even worse, and then the milk and the firefighters... It made me feel bad for him, because it felt like an elderly person who can't take care of themselves alone anymore.
And then France. Oh, dear. I know I suggested it, but you just made it so much more... oh, dear. I felt so inappropriate laughing at the mental image of England chasing poor Canada (poor, poor Canada) with the flagpole, but out of context it's just...funny. Poor England. Poor Canada.
AND THEN HE GOT HIT BY A CAR. D:
I think I might die if you don't update soon, dear, sweet anon. D: I need to know what happens next. Your cliffhangers are cruel. <3
I love YOU, OP, for making such a prompt! And asdjfkl; THAT IS SUCH HIGH PRAISE ;o; thank you ♥♥
Actually, do you want to know a secret about the beginning? It was supposed to be purely comic relief. YOU GUYS ARE LOOKING TOO MUCH INTO IT! Haha jk, I am eternally grateful that you appreciate that scene so much. I think it was one of my favorite to write in this fill.
The real France will appear, no worries. :D And oh yes. The flagpole. Writing England going YARRR through the UN with a giant flagpole made me sorta wince, because you're right about it. Out of context it's just...pfff.
YES /CACKLES
I'll do my best to get an update out soon, magnificent OP. <3
Way to make me laugh at England getting hit by a car notso anon.
Auuugh this was heartbreaking and over the top and the milk and the suit and omg my alzheimer stricken grandmother does things like that and holy shit he thought Canada was France. Well, that is a new one.
of course I know who you are, you lovely berk. subtle, that’s me. also: late.
And oh, oh, oh, the FrUK shipper in me is wailing, and I want to take Canada far, far, far away and cuddle him forever, poor, lovely, sweet baby boy, because you’re going to break him and my heart along with it, and I shouldn’t love this fill all this much but I do, I do. And I could quote portions of this but I would end up quoting the entire thing, so I’ll just say that your style is amazing and grows better with each new portion. Because, you know, it is. And it does.
Anatomy of the Infinite [6a/14]
anonymous
July 17 2010, 06:29:51 UTC
Thanks a million for your comments <3
In Which England Is Seized With A Number Of Revelations, All Of Which Are Unpleasant
? ?? ??:?? ????
Four boys on a hilltop in the rustling sunset were calling to him.
Wild boys with wild eyes wild hair tumbling down the heather red sun going down shadows in the fire spilling red glowing calling
Calling, mother never loved you, don’t ever come back please come back shoulders straight against the sun, it was always the sun, be burned by the sun too often and you die young
I die young
Yyo;unn
g
May 20th, 2010 5:49 pm - New York City
England woke to a sheet covering him and, for one cold moment, thought he was in a morgue.
He did not open his eyes. Then he realized a voice was coming from his right side and remembered-yes, remembered-that the dead wouldn’t make conversation. Unless it was a case like Juliet-but two of them were alive, and it could only be one of them, so which-who, then?
“…It was really messy business,” the voice said, threading through his ear and out the other. England listened, body numb. “Not the actual accident, even though that was kinda messy too. It was the paperwork, you know? And the entire conference yesterday was delayed too-but only delayed. God, sometimes Al gets driven for all the wrong reasons…I mean-I mean, you were hit by a car, and he was all like, ‘The show must go on!’ Fuck that, what sort of show is he talking about?”
A hot sigh trailed the edges of his ear.
It was very quiet for the next four minutes. England counted, because if he didn’t the room felt terrifyingly absent.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” the voice mumbled. “I know he had his reasons. It’s just that he doesn’t see things-I don’t get it, no one is that unafraid of a body-a Nation, seriously, being thrown across his street-- you, damnit, especially you-“
The last word crumpled into a strained silence.
“I don’t know why I’m even talking about him.” A chair creaked. England watched the lights behind his eyelids. “You know, I Googled all the stuff going on with you. It was the worst researching ever. All I did was type pirates and, uh…selective. Memory loss. In the beginning, I mean, and I got these ads for a Peter Pan remake.”
They danced.
“But then I got something else.” The voice shifted; something in England shifted, deep in the stiffness of his bones, and he opened his eyes.
He looked to the right.
Anons, I’m leaving for an internship in China and won’t be back until mid-August, but didn’t want to disappear with nothing, so…here’s something, although I feel terrible about teasing with so little ;A; Also, never again will I promise a speedy update because the exact opposite happens. This month has been crazy with preparations.
I’ll see if I can get around the Great Firewall and post something while in China. Thanks so much for bearing with me, anons ♥
Th-this is still epically amazing, author-anon! Mid-August will be here before we know it, and even if you can't get around the Great Firewall maybe you'll have the next part ready to post just as soon as the jet lag wears off. c:
Thank you so much! I'm on the edge of my seat, truly! <33 Have fun in China, my dear!
Manhattan raced past the limousine windows. Everything was fast-forwarded-the man eating his hotdog took vicious bites, the bicycler flew past the pigeons, which circled him in a whirlwind of grey-
England couldn’t hear them, but he knew that cars were honking by the millisecond.
Apparently he’d voiced it, because the aide beside him said, “It’s called the New York minute, sir. Funny term-from a film, I think.”
“New York minute?”
“The time between two cars honking, sir. If you look at it from a different way, though, I think it goes on infinitely. I mean, cars are always honking in this city.”
England leaned his head against the leather of his seat and felt very, very old, and very, very out of place.
Too much glass, he thought as he climbed the steps to the United Nations Headquarters. Too much glass and not enough brain cells in this place-in this ridiculous review conference, in the countries gathered for it-in America and Turkey and Japan and France-
England froze mid-step on the stairs, vaguely noticing the suited men around him stop too.
France.
France, that bastard son of Rome. That whoresome lech, that pest that would not be crushed, not in Crécy and not in Poitiers and not in Cravant, that had the gall to rise and bite him in the ribs at Castillion, still a seething wound that the nurses floundered at bandaging, because of him he was on his thirteenth horse now and the first seven had all been fed to the creatures in Rouen-- was he here, did he think smearing Bureau’s actions in his face wasn’t enough, that Talbot’s death wasn’t grand enough…good, lovely, gone, faithful Talbot-
“Sir Kirkland! Sir Kirkland!”
The voices behind him were garbled and blurry, as if muddled with and under water, and he ignored them as he raced up the steps into the building and sprinted through the halls with the cavalry on his heels.
England sped into another wing, drawn by the inexplicable sense that all Nations had of each other, and wrenched open the door before him.
“France!” He roared. All noise in the room ceased. “France, where are you?”
The silence was shrill. Only for a brief moment, though, because then the Nations rolled their eyes and turned to each other again, weary of the spats between the two countries. One of them emerged from the din towards England with an expression he couldn’t quite place.
I do love you, I do, I do.
“Arthur, Francis hasn’t arrived yet-“
“You,” England quivered-quivered, an interesting word, hadn’t the bard coined it himself?-- trembled, blood simmering, and lunged at the Nation. “France, you coward-“
The other Nation stepped into the hallway, one hand on a door’s handle. “I-Arthur, he’s not-I’m not-“
France was slipping away. He was slinking away like the shell of a creature he was, and England wanted to-wanted to-
(“Should I die an Achilles for my Nation, then I may die in the beauty of thy peace,” did Talbot whisper, a flower of blood blossoming through his armor, grass stains around his eyes as they gazed at England, love and love and love-“And I may die well.”)
--wanted to see France alive and writhing in the pain of his own blood.
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France was gaping. England smiled.
“Arthur, Arthur, you-you’re unwell, you-you need to put that down, this is insane-“
“I am no madder than the last,” he crowed, “and you, Sir Bonnefoy, are indeed the last!”
England surged towards him. France stumbled, gave the staff in his hands a wild glance, and fled.
He chased him down the hallways and past people and their exclamations until the two burst out into the sunlight of the plaza.
“England,” cried the Nation before him, and he was caught for a moment by the sun glinting off the gold of his hair, “you have to stop--“
“It is you, my friend, who needs to stop cowering behind the skirts of your generals,” spat England, before making for the Nation again. There were birds skidding into the air around them, too fast for him to see what color or what kind, feathers racing past his eyes as he pursued the other man into-
Into a great wide mess of a land, trails of flags dotting the sky and people blurring around him, everything moving going watching leaving, swallowing him as he ran and ran, heaving the lance that wasn’t a lance under his arms-
“England!” France bellowed. He spun and saw the Nation waving at him, now behind him, people and rows and universes away from him but somehow closer to him than he ever was as he stood stranded in the middle of-
“England!” Cried France again, and he stilled now, arms slackening, because-because it wasn’t France, that Nation, like France but infinitely more beautiful than him, gold blinding England’s eyes-
”England!” He wanted him to be quiet but never stop talking, there was his name spilling from the Nation and birds screeching all around him and things hurtling past him and the wind pounding into his heart-England gasped and turned, tie flapping into his mouth-
He blinked once as another “England!” drowned in his ears, before the car from East 42nd Street collided into him and the world exploded.
I do love you, I do, I do.
Ah. The birds were red.
Do you, do you, do you.
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Btw, in real life the United Nations is, in my opinion, kinda boring. Skip it if you visit NYC (and go to the Whitney Museum instead! It’s full of out-there modern art, takes less than 2 hours to explore, and has ROTHKO! It is a gem).
And hello, anon-who-knows-who-I-am! /faintly alarmed
RESEARCH NOTES!
The Millenium is a real, super posh hotel situated in the United Nations Plaza in NYC. It’s very shiny.
England is at the UN for the 2010 Review Conference for the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons, held from May 3rd to May 28th. America, Japan, and Turkey all gave speeches/statements and there was a lot of posturing and promising. The entire conference can be summarized as the nations going ‘I really don’t feel like getting rid of my nuclear stuff because it makes me feel manly, but I swear all I’ll do with them is polish them every night before bed! Also Iran you scare me’
England’s mind is floating in the Hundred Years’ War, when lances were most popular and animosity between the English and French was at one of its highs. The War ends with France’s Jean Bureau killing English general and hero John Talbot, which the English were pretty sore about. Sore enough that Shakespeare immortalized him in a couple plays.
The flagstaff that England grabs had a Canadian flag and looks like one of these, which I think are called telescopic flag poles. Yay useless knowledge! http://italianhandful.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/international-flags-flank-the-stage.jpg
The conversion between lances and flag poles is actually historically canon, although not the way England uses it, ahaha. Wikipedia says that the American cavalry and Canadian North-West Mounted Police (!) both used a ceremonial lance as a flagstaff.
The semi-seizure that England has is a symptom of general paresis of the insane, a disease ? idk what it’s categorized as /shot caused by neurosyphilis, and also the one responsible for memory loss.
Thank you for reading ♥!
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I normally don't like spiralling downward, going-to-get-five-billion-times-worse-before-it-gets-better fic, but this one hurts so good. *whimper*
And I really love your research notes. ♥ Jus' saying. :)
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eee thank you, anon! i was kind of afraid that the flagpole lance would seem too out there and wtf-worthy, so i'm glad it worked out. and THANKS AGAIN ♥ i enjoyed writing them!
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England talking to the fire fighter made me laugh, and I feel rather bad about that. Oh, England. That would have been even funnier if it wasn't under such heartrending circumstances.
Also, HOLY CRAP. ENGLAND. CAR. BAM. OAGOEGOIG OH MY GOD!!
Now if you'll excuse me, I will stop rambling incoherently and go to sleep.
I enjoy how you summed up the Conference. XD
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Excellently done as always~ I'm really enjoying this fill <3
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The beginning was...I don't even know what it was. It was beautiful. Taking his normal fail cooking skills and making them even worse, and then the milk and the firefighters... It made me feel bad for him, because it felt like an elderly person who can't take care of themselves alone anymore.
And then France. Oh, dear. I know I suggested it, but you just made it so much more... oh, dear. I felt so inappropriate laughing at the mental image of England chasing poor Canada (poor, poor Canada) with the flagpole, but out of context it's just...funny. Poor England. Poor Canada.
AND THEN HE GOT HIT BY A CAR. D:
I think I might die if you don't update soon, dear, sweet anon. D: I need to know what happens next. Your cliffhangers are cruel. <3
PS: Your title is perfect, luv. <3
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Actually, do you want to know a secret about the beginning? It was supposed to be purely comic relief. YOU GUYS ARE LOOKING TOO MUCH INTO IT! Haha jk, I am eternally grateful that you appreciate that scene so much. I think it was one of my favorite to write in this fill.
The real France will appear, no worries. :D And oh yes. The flagpole. Writing England going YARRR through the UN with a giant flagpole made me sorta wince, because you're right about it. Out of context it's just...pfff.
YES /CACKLES
I'll do my best to get an update out soon, magnificent OP. <3
PS: Your COMMENTS are perfect!
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B|
Way to make me laugh at England getting hit by a car notso anon.
Auuugh this was heartbreaking and over the top and the milk and the suit and omg my alzheimer stricken grandmother does things like that and holy shit he thought Canada was France. Well, that is a new one.
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And oh, oh, oh, the FrUK shipper in me is wailing, and I want to take Canada far, far, far away and cuddle him forever, poor, lovely, sweet baby boy, because you’re going to break him and my heart along with it, and I shouldn’t love this fill all this much but I do, I do. And I could quote portions of this but I would end up quoting the entire thing, so I’ll just say that your style is amazing and grows better with each new portion. Because, you know, it is. And it does.
I do love you, I do, I do.
Ahahahahah-cough. Okay. Hmm. /happy sigh
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In Which England Is Seized With A Number Of Revelations, All Of Which Are Unpleasant
? ?? ??:?? ????
Four boys on a hilltop in the rustling sunset were calling to him.
Wild boys with wild eyes wild hair tumbling down the heather red sun going down shadows in the fire spilling red glowing calling
Calling, mother never loved you, don’t ever come back please come back shoulders straight against the sun, it was always the sun, be burned by the sun too often and you die young
I die young
Yyo;unn
g
May 20th, 2010 5:49 pm - New York City
England woke to a sheet covering him and, for one cold moment, thought he was in a morgue.
He did not open his eyes. Then he realized a voice was coming from his right side and remembered-yes, remembered-that the dead wouldn’t make conversation. Unless it was a case like Juliet-but two of them were alive, and it could only be one of them, so which-who, then?
“…It was really messy business,” the voice said, threading through his ear and out the other. England listened, body numb. “Not the actual accident, even though that was kinda messy too. It was the paperwork, you know? And the entire conference yesterday was delayed too-but only delayed. God, sometimes Al gets driven for all the wrong reasons…I mean-I mean, you were hit by a car, and he was all like, ‘The show must go on!’ Fuck that, what sort of show is he talking about?”
A hot sigh trailed the edges of his ear.
It was very quiet for the next four minutes. England counted, because if he didn’t the room felt terrifyingly absent.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” the voice mumbled. “I know he had his reasons. It’s just that he doesn’t see things-I don’t get it, no one is that unafraid of a body-a Nation, seriously, being thrown across his street-- you, damnit, especially you-“
The last word crumpled into a strained silence.
“I don’t know why I’m even talking about him.” A chair creaked. England watched the lights behind his eyelids. “You know, I Googled all the stuff going on with you. It was the worst researching ever. All I did was type pirates and, uh…selective. Memory loss. In the beginning, I mean, and I got these ads for a Peter Pan remake.”
They danced.
“But then I got something else.” The voice shifted; something in England shifted, deep in the stiffness of his bones, and he opened his eyes.
He looked to the right.
Anons, I’m leaving for an internship in China and won’t be back until mid-August, but didn’t want to disappear with nothing, so…here’s something, although I feel terrible about teasing with so little ;A; Also, never again will I promise a speedy update because the exact opposite happens. This month has been crazy with preparations.
I’ll see if I can get around the Great Firewall and post something while in China. Thanks so much for bearing with me, anons ♥
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Good luck with your internship! I wish you all the best~ <3
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I'll be waiting for you to come back/break the Great Firewall
All the best for your internship!
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Thank you so much! I'm on the edge of my seat, truly! <33 Have fun in China, my dear!
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