[RL - Russia - Adventures in Facistland]
[England had not been having the best few weeks. First there had been that virus. And then that video from V's world. And then yet another virus, and the fall-out from it. And throughout all that of course, there had been bomb after bomb falling on his land, his cities, his people.
So maybe on reflection, it wasn't too surprising that he'd gone ahead and done something this amazingly thick.
The truth was, he was sick of feeling guilty every single time he talked to V. It wasn't his fault, what had happened there. And it wasn't his world, either. But the truth was that it was close enough, too close, and considering what it was he was at war with right now, it was all hitting too close to home, and what information he had managed to get out of V just disturbed him more.
He'd wanted to see for himself. Just a quick look around, that was all. It wasn't as if he could do anything himself.
It was, as they say, a wonderful idea at the time.
As it's turned out, he's now running down a deserted street in this strange alternate London (and seeing how much had changed in the future had thrown him off enough as it was), as if all the demons in hell were after him. Which really, they might as well be.
He should have known there would be a curfew of some sort. But he was an idiot and he didn't think and he ignored all his own advice and just rushed into the situation. And while he's not normally one to run away from a fight, there's too many of them, and he's not in the best shape at the moment as it is thanks to all of those bombs, and anyway he has his people to think of --
And he's just managed to run into a dead end.
Now fucking what?
He can hear them gaining on him, but there's nowhere he can vanish to, nothing to use as a weapon; all he can do is stand there and wait for them, and curse himself for a bloody fool.
No, wait. It's not all he can do. He still has his magic, doesn't he? He's always had his magic, and while it might not work here, or without his books, or the right preparations, he's still got it. And besides, it's all he's got left to try to get him out of this mess. Other than praying to his pagan gods, but since he's been rather estranged from them for centuries, he highly doubts they'll be any help.
So as he sees the group of them rounding the corner, he breathes in, and out again, and starts muttering the first incantation he can remember, desperately hoping that this will work.]
((OOC: Permission given for this plot by V-mun here!))
So maybe on reflection, it wasn't too surprising that he'd gone ahead and done something this amazingly thick.
The truth was, he was sick of feeling guilty every single time he talked to V. It wasn't his fault, what had happened there. And it wasn't his world, either. But the truth was that it was close enough, too close, and considering what it was he was at war with right now, it was all hitting too close to home, and what information he had managed to get out of V just disturbed him more.
He'd wanted to see for himself. Just a quick look around, that was all. It wasn't as if he could do anything himself.
It was, as they say, a wonderful idea at the time.
As it's turned out, he's now running down a deserted street in this strange alternate London (and seeing how much had changed in the future had thrown him off enough as it was), as if all the demons in hell were after him. Which really, they might as well be.
He should have known there would be a curfew of some sort. But he was an idiot and he didn't think and he ignored all his own advice and just rushed into the situation. And while he's not normally one to run away from a fight, there's too many of them, and he's not in the best shape at the moment as it is thanks to all of those bombs, and anyway he has his people to think of --
And he's just managed to run into a dead end.
Now fucking what?
He can hear them gaining on him, but there's nowhere he can vanish to, nothing to use as a weapon; all he can do is stand there and wait for them, and curse himself for a bloody fool.
No, wait. It's not all he can do. He still has his magic, doesn't he? He's always had his magic, and while it might not work here, or without his books, or the right preparations, he's still got it. And besides, it's all he's got left to try to get him out of this mess. Other than praying to his pagan gods, but since he's been rather estranged from them for centuries, he highly doubts they'll be any help.
So as he sees the group of them rounding the corner, he breathes in, and out again, and starts muttering the first incantation he can remember, desperately hoping that this will work.]
((OOC: Permission given for this plot by V-mun here!))