Past-Part Fills Part 7
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Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
Canada knew, even as he'd set the alarm last night (far too late!) that getting up so early was ambitious and possibly out of the realm of possibility. He also knew that the after-dinner coffee he'd ordered was a bad idea because he wouldn't fall asleep until the blue hours of the night. And it was decently cold in Oslo; he hadn't wanted to get out of bed --
And excuses, excuses, nagged a voice that felt suspiciously like England, we said nine am and we meant nine am!
And now it was nearly eleven-thirty and he was over two hours late for the working group on domestic security issues that the Netherlands had so kindly set up for them to begin discussing something relevant and derail somehow into the war on terror.
With any luck, he thought, as he rounded the corner and spotted an open set of elevator doors, marked above with a red arrow pointing down - he panicked and put in an extra effort for that added burst of speed, c'mon legs, don't fail me now! - that was where they'd be at this moment: America trying to convince England how the latest threat to the Western World needed particular monitoring, and England attempting to calm him down and explain to him that he couldn't just operate on hearsay from the CIA. With any luck, the only one who noticed his slipping in would be France, who noticed many things but could be persuaded to keep them secret.
"Wait!" he called, and ducked into the elevator cabin just before the doors shut.
Safe. He relaxed and bent slightly, his hands on his knees, panting.
It wasn't until he straightened that he realised he was not alone in the cabin.
Russia leaned against the back wall, attempting to look casual and dismissive even though his height would have the guardrail poking into his tailbone.
Delightful. He fidgeted, rubbed the nape of his neck and huffed.
Ordinarily Canada would think, better late than later. But ... tardiness be damned, he really didn't want to share an elevator with Russia, even if it'd only be for some thirty seconds. "I, uh," Canada said, and coughed, feeling uncomfortable. "Y'know... I can take the next one." He caught the floor they were on - fourteenth, descending - and pressed the button for the twelfth.
"Da, mozhesh'. That would be nice," Russia replied, quietly, and to his feet.
But the elevator neither dinged at the twelfth, nor opened its doors. Instead, it gave an ominous lurch down, knocking Russia off his balance and sending Canada to his knees, followed by a short stop and a screech, like a train derailment in elevator form.
Canada looked up at Russia, pale and gripping the guardrail. "Are you -"
Another deafening screech interrupted him. He felt the cabin wobble under his feet before the lights cut entirely and the cabin dropped - for a split second he was weightless -
Until another screech, and it stopped, slamming Canada painfully into the floor. "Ow," he grumbled, out of the side of his mouth that wasn't connected with the tile. But at least the emergency lighting system was up and running, and he could see his hands in front of his face. Gingerly, he lifted himself up onto his haunches and sat back. "Are you alright?" he asked.
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