Saturday comes afterwards [1a/?]
anonymous
October 3 2011, 13:23:36 UTC
England wasn't sure where the noise was coming from, only that it was a singularly irritating noise, and that he'd like it to go away. He rolled slightly, pushing his nose into his pillow, and cracked open a single green eye to examine his flashing alarm clock. Seven am in the morning wasn't a particularly bad time to awaken, except when your head was pounding with the aftermaths of jetlag, and your body was convinced you'd gone starkers considering when you went to sleep the previous night. Under those circumstances, seven am was a mythical creature, possibly non-existent and certainly better if it was so.
America popped into view, suddenly as though he had sprouted from England's covers, squealing excitedly. "England! Come ooooon!" His voice had that ever so slight lilt that bordered between demanding, begging and self-assurance that his desire would be met. England batted at America's jostling hands feebly. "Hey, you gotta wake up like now dude, or you'll totally miss it!" America informed him, ignoring England's weak attempts to dispel America's insistent shoving.
"Right, right, 'm comin'..." England snarled, wriggling until America fell off to the side, giggling. "Will you knock that off?" England snapped, exhausted and a gnawing pain beginning in his temples.
"Aww, come on, England," America chirruped, and adjusted Texas as he sat up, crossing his legs indian style and snuggling one of England's cushions. "There's a reason I chose Punxsutawney for the World Conference this time." America had apparently drawn the curtains, because the room was flooded with a mixture of clean light and cold air. England definitely would prefer to sleep in before the conference.
"I don't care." The Island Nation growled, pressing his face firmly into the pillow.
"But I care!" America seized England by an ankle, and began pulling him from the bed, and with a cat-like squeal, England tumbled to the floor, bristling and hastily preening his fur exactly like a cat. "This is important to me, geez, and it's like magic and shit, you'll love it, now get up!" America bundled up England's covers and hastily seized the pillows, giving England a light kick in the back with his foot. "So up and attem!" America grinned. "Early bird, dude!"
With that America pranced out of England's hotel room, trailing sheets, duvets and the abundance of beautifully warm things England had been trying to use to stay warm. Rubbing his head, England yawned, teeth a flash of annoyance, reflecting on the fact now that he was awake, he wouldn't be able to sleep at all. With a reluctant effort, he got to his feet, and staggered over to his abandoned suitcase and began to desperately search for warmth.
It was a good (fumbling) twenty minutes before England had come cowering down the stairs and immediately pounced on a coffee table, searching for tea. "Here!" America grinned, bounding over leaving Kiku flailing in his wake with a teapot. "I had Kiku make you some of your leaf juice!" The youthful, and persistently puppy-like nation happily passed over a cup of tea that was about as cold as England's toes at that moment in time. In other words. Freezing.
England sniffed the vile excuse for tea, and eventually gave it a sip, which transformed into a repressed spit-take. "Yuerch! You call this tea?!"
America pawed away a droplet of attempted tea and or spit and frowned unhappily, pouted rather. "Heeyy, I tried, old man," He gave a huff, crossing his arms and continuing to pout, refusing to meet England's eyes. England jabbed sharply at his arm. "Oww, whadayawan'?"
"You said you had something to show me." England gritted out.
"Oh right! You gotta' meet Phil!" America grabbed England by his spare hand, offense forgotten and all but danced out of the room. En route, England hastily handed the tea back to Kiku and remembered to inquire after the dratted alarm.
"Oh? That's Friday." America grinned devilishly as he blew on his fingers, shutting the gate behind him with a graceful kick of his foot. "It's the latest in my music war with Mattie."
"I'm afraid to say," England stated primly. "She won't do very well."
Re: Saturday comes afterwards [1b/?]
anonymous
October 3 2011, 13:51:00 UTC
"Derp," America rolled his eyes, smiling with some distinctly cruel delight. "That's the point. Canada released Justin Bieber, and this is the only fair response." America gave a shudder. "I'm pretty sure my east coast has bieberfever...it's been itching like mad..." Apparently this was interesting enough for him to drift off into his own thoughts, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like commie.
England sighed through his nose, not even gracing America's inanity with a reply. Regardless of anything else, the song was the most annoying thing England had ever encountered, and this long list of annoyances included America himself.
America continued to mutter, hands shoved in his pockets, as he led England seemingly nowhere; looking around like a startled deer, England finally unbuttoned his pride to ask where they were actually going.
"To see the Groundhog, of course." America beamed at England, and England gaped at him.
"I was woken up at an ungodly hour to see a rat?"
"He's not a rat!" America defended. "He's a groundhog! And he can predict the weather!" England arched an eyebrow. "Okay, well he just predicts, like, a late or early spring, but it's still kinda' cool." England's other eyebrow shot up. "Well this is important to me okay!" America tore a few frostbitten leaves off a nearby hedgerow. "You don't need to act like I'm pulling your teeth out or anything..."
England grimaced; this was not going to be a good day, and he hadn't even gotten to the conference yet. Shuffling behind America, they reached the godforsaken park, and tucking his hands under his arms, England stared through the crowd, and willed the event to be over. Sadly, the whole thing only became worse, when America unexpectedly flung himself at England. "Bloody hell, Alfred, what on earth?"
America glowered at Russia, and England wondered when the two would just pull their trousers down and settle the whole matter like real men. "What're you doing here?" America demanded, pupils constricted with what had ceased to be a political dislike and was now a personal one.
"I thought to see the Groundhog, da?" Russia smiled with a little too more malice for it to truly be reassuring. "How interesting the customs of your people, trying to fight off the winter, hm? In Russia-"
"I don't think-"
"-That you two are being anything but a pair of prats." England butted in, which led to Russia redirecting his bright gaze to England. England bristled, standing up to his full and unimpressive height, there was however, something threatening about the sharpness of his posture, or perhaps his tired, and frustrated face.
"And what are you doing here?" Russia inquired, evidently toying with whether this would be interesting.
"I invited him of course!" America stepped between Russia and England protectively, leading England to shove America away from him.
"You mean dragged here by force." Another, slightly harsher shove. "But I suppose genuine empathy would be a bit beyond you, huh?"
America span round, scowling. "Drop dead England! I was trying to be a good host!" England snorted, and America coloured, before turning away in a gesture that England was already performing himself. Upon noticing America's habit, England awkwardly turned his own huff into some form of wave or perhaps stretch.
Russia blinked, looking between them. "I think, perhaps," He said finally. "There has been some miscommunication between the two of you."
"Which you'd so take advantage of." America commented coldly.
"On the contrary," Russia corrected. "I was going to translate."
"Fuck you, America," England kicked at America. "I've known Ivan longer than you. He can be perfectly courteous." Truthfully, England had found Russia's fawning attentions during some of his pre-revolution years, both to himself and to France, more than a little creepy, and whilst they'd had some perfectly amicable times, Russia was so large and harsh to live in, he'd always been a bit unstable. England just couldn't think of anything worse than agreeing with America.
Saturday comes afterwards [1c/?]
anonymous
October 3 2011, 13:51:49 UTC
"Yeah when he's not trying to rape somebody." America waggled his fingers. "Become one with Russia, whhoo-ooh." Russia gave America a deeply rankled look, and whilst it was certainly not a killing look, it was a tired, bored one, much like the one England had been wearing earlier.
"Your opinion is as always delightful." Russia shifted away from the two warring anglophones - not literally warring, but it was probably a close-shot - and edged towards the event he'd actually come to see. It was so sad when family didn't get along. At this point the argument had moulted any showy feathers of point, reason, and sophistication, and been revealed as a shamelessly frustrated dig at personal flaws.
"You're a selfish, unaware brat," England decided, crossing his arms, and glowering up at America. "I spoilt you rotten."
"Spoilt me?" America snapped, pushing an index finger at England's crossed arms and barely flicking him, which sent England stumbling backwards. "You had ridiculous tax levels just so you could go and totally get some of France's ass or whatever, I mean, dude, you used me."
"Used you?" England squawked. "I'll have you know I damn well cared for you!"
"Yeah, not as much as you cared for yourself." America frowned, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Ohh, you wanna know about selfish huh? You just gotta look in a mirror." America snorted. "You don't care about anyone do you?"
It was like getting punched in the chest. England responded to the almost-physical attack as though he had been assaulted.
He reacted instinctively by trying to slap America, the pain flaring through his rib-cage, but America stepped out of the way, and England only swiped at the air. The horrible ache crawled out from England's chest and settled in the pit of his stomach. It was too much, and England coughed on words uncomfortably combing for a response. "I hate you!" England finally spat, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, and he rubbed at them furiously. "Goddamnit." England sniffled. "I really hate you."
"Whatever." America replied coldly, turning to stare bluntly up at the newly awakened Groundhog.
America popped into view, suddenly as though he had sprouted from England's covers, squealing excitedly. "England! Come ooooon!" His voice had that ever so slight lilt that bordered between demanding, begging and self-assurance that his desire would be met. England batted at America's jostling hands feebly. "Hey, you gotta wake up like now dude, or you'll totally miss it!" America informed him, ignoring England's weak attempts to dispel America's insistent shoving.
"Right, right, 'm comin'..." England snarled, wriggling until America fell off to the side, giggling. "Will you knock that off?" England snapped, exhausted and a gnawing pain beginning in his temples.
"Aww, come on, England," America chirruped, and adjusted Texas as he sat up, crossing his legs indian style and snuggling one of England's cushions. "There's a reason I chose Punxsutawney for the World Conference this time." America had apparently drawn the curtains, because the room was flooded with a mixture of clean light and cold air. England definitely would prefer to sleep in before the conference.
"I don't care." The Island Nation growled, pressing his face firmly into the pillow.
"But I care!" America seized England by an ankle, and began pulling him from the bed, and with a cat-like squeal, England tumbled to the floor, bristling and hastily preening his fur exactly like a cat. "This is important to me, geez, and it's like magic and shit, you'll love it, now get up!" America bundled up England's covers and hastily seized the pillows, giving England a light kick in the back with his foot. "So up and attem!" America grinned. "Early bird, dude!"
With that America pranced out of England's hotel room, trailing sheets, duvets and the abundance of beautifully warm things England had been trying to use to stay warm. Rubbing his head, England yawned, teeth a flash of annoyance, reflecting on the fact now that he was awake, he wouldn't be able to sleep at all. With a reluctant effort, he got to his feet, and staggered over to his abandoned suitcase and began to desperately search for warmth.
It was a good (fumbling) twenty minutes before England had come cowering down the stairs and immediately pounced on a coffee table, searching for tea. "Here!" America grinned, bounding over leaving Kiku flailing in his wake with a teapot. "I had Kiku make you some of your leaf juice!" The youthful, and persistently puppy-like nation happily passed over a cup of tea that was about as cold as England's toes at that moment in time. In other words. Freezing.
England sniffed the vile excuse for tea, and eventually gave it a sip, which transformed into a repressed spit-take. "Yuerch! You call this tea?!"
America pawed away a droplet of attempted tea and or spit and frowned unhappily, pouted rather. "Heeyy, I tried, old man," He gave a huff, crossing his arms and continuing to pout, refusing to meet England's eyes. England jabbed sharply at his arm. "Oww, whadayawan'?"
"You said you had something to show me." England gritted out.
"Oh right! You gotta' meet Phil!" America grabbed England by his spare hand, offense forgotten and all but danced out of the room. En route, England hastily handed the tea back to Kiku and remembered to inquire after the dratted alarm.
"Oh? That's Friday." America grinned devilishly as he blew on his fingers, shutting the gate behind him with a graceful kick of his foot. "It's the latest in my music war with Mattie."
"I'm afraid to say," England stated primly. "She won't do very well."
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England sighed through his nose, not even gracing America's inanity with a reply. Regardless of anything else, the song was the most annoying thing England had ever encountered, and this long list of annoyances included America himself.
America continued to mutter, hands shoved in his pockets, as he led England seemingly nowhere; looking around like a startled deer, England finally unbuttoned his pride to ask where they were actually going.
"To see the Groundhog, of course." America beamed at England, and England gaped at him.
"I was woken up at an ungodly hour to see a rat?"
"He's not a rat!" America defended. "He's a groundhog! And he can predict the weather!" England arched an eyebrow. "Okay, well he just predicts, like, a late or early spring, but it's still kinda' cool." England's other eyebrow shot up. "Well this is important to me okay!" America tore a few frostbitten leaves off a nearby hedgerow. "You don't need to act like I'm pulling your teeth out or anything..."
England grimaced; this was not going to be a good day, and he hadn't even gotten to the conference yet. Shuffling behind America, they reached the godforsaken park, and tucking his hands under his arms, England stared through the crowd, and willed the event to be over. Sadly, the whole thing only became worse, when America unexpectedly flung himself at England. "Bloody hell, Alfred, what on earth?"
America glowered at Russia, and England wondered when the two would just pull their trousers down and settle the whole matter like real men. "What're you doing here?" America demanded, pupils constricted with what had ceased to be a political dislike and was now a personal one.
"I thought to see the Groundhog, da?" Russia smiled with a little too more malice for it to truly be reassuring. "How interesting the customs of your people, trying to fight off the winter, hm? In Russia-"
"I don't think-"
"-That you two are being anything but a pair of prats." England butted in, which led to Russia redirecting his bright gaze to England. England bristled, standing up to his full and unimpressive height, there was however, something threatening about the sharpness of his posture, or perhaps his tired, and frustrated face.
"And what are you doing here?" Russia inquired, evidently toying with whether this would be interesting.
"I invited him of course!" America stepped between Russia and England protectively, leading England to shove America away from him.
"You mean dragged here by force." Another, slightly harsher shove. "But I suppose genuine empathy would be a bit beyond you, huh?"
America span round, scowling. "Drop dead England! I was trying to be a good host!" England snorted, and America coloured, before turning away in a gesture that England was already performing himself. Upon noticing America's habit, England awkwardly turned his own huff into some form of wave or perhaps stretch.
Russia blinked, looking between them. "I think, perhaps," He said finally. "There has been some miscommunication between the two of you."
"Which you'd so take advantage of." America commented coldly.
"On the contrary," Russia corrected. "I was going to translate."
"Fuck you, America," England kicked at America. "I've known Ivan longer than you. He can be perfectly courteous." Truthfully, England had found Russia's fawning attentions during some of his pre-revolution years, both to himself and to France, more than a little creepy, and whilst they'd had some perfectly amicable times, Russia was so large and harsh to live in, he'd always been a bit unstable. England just couldn't think of anything worse than agreeing with America.
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"Your opinion is as always delightful." Russia shifted away from the two warring anglophones - not literally warring, but it was probably a close-shot - and edged towards the event he'd actually come to see. It was so sad when family didn't get along. At this point the argument had moulted any showy feathers of point, reason, and sophistication, and been revealed as a shamelessly frustrated dig at personal flaws.
"You're a selfish, unaware brat," England decided, crossing his arms, and glowering up at America. "I spoilt you rotten."
"Spoilt me?" America snapped, pushing an index finger at England's crossed arms and barely flicking him, which sent England stumbling backwards. "You had ridiculous tax levels just so you could go and totally get some of France's ass or whatever, I mean, dude, you used me."
"Used you?" England squawked. "I'll have you know I damn well cared for you!"
"Yeah, not as much as you cared for yourself." America frowned, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Ohh, you wanna know about selfish huh? You just gotta look in a mirror." America snorted. "You don't care about anyone do you?"
It was like getting punched in the chest. England responded to the almost-physical attack as though he had been assaulted.
He reacted instinctively by trying to slap America, the pain flaring through his rib-cage, but America stepped out of the way, and England only swiped at the air. The horrible ache crawled out from England's chest and settled in the pit of his stomach. It was too much, and England coughed on words uncomfortably combing for a response. "I hate you!" England finally spat, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, and he rubbed at them furiously. "Goddamnit." England sniffled. "I really hate you."
"Whatever." America replied coldly, turning to stare bluntly up at the newly awakened Groundhog.
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I loved England's delightful tirade.
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All the nations are very IC. I also like the little England-Russia friendship thing going on, I think they'd actually make great friends.
Your writing is lovely and I'm really looking forward to the next chapter. :)
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