[open] Let's make this a bloodbath-!
Who: France andouillette and EVERYONE IS WELCOME.
What: Oho? Midnight, France is looking for some fun. But mostly a wonderful celebratory rampage.
When: 31st December, late night.
Where: Everywhere; starting off in the lobby, but there are threads for each wing/area. :D
Warning: France being himself. PG-13, may rise.
Note: So this is a late late late was-due-a-while-ago RAMPAGE. Am putting up a separate thread for the different parts of the Sanctuary, just like the Hallowe'en log, of which you are free to leap into at whatever time should you want a bit of the action! And I do mean that in the most literal of ways. ♥ Happy New Year, all.
"Ready for the new year, eh?"
None of the lobby furniture replied, of course, but the crowds of France's mind cheered without hesitation. He saw them all; an underground group let out into the open, a frosty field of relaxed soldiers, perhaps a filled home of distant and long-lost relatives, or a small family gathered around a dinner table, waiting for those twelve bongs of midnight and the pop of the cork.
Miles away. And years away, it felt, from his own liberty. France brought the bottle to his lips again- the cork of the champagne was wrapped, still, but he picked at the golden foil with a canine nonetheless- let out a heavy breath and slung himself further back into an armchair. There were meant to be celebrations going on, weren't there? Why was he alone in the lobby? "Really, now, you guys are too soft..." he murmured out with barely-moving lips. As if he had the effort.
1946, he was entering. Six years ago, he had practically been besieged and held like a prisoner. Six years later, he was still imprisoned, although legal documents said otherwise and his home was free of foreign wrath once more. Blue eyes darted to the clock in the room. Still the hour hand lay between XI and XII, no matter how long he gazed at it longingly, as though beckoning a lover wordlessly to his bedside.
"And all alone! Strange, n'est-ce-pas?" The laughter bubbled out of him, aimed at nobody, least of all anybody in the Sanctuary, or, dare he think it, his correspondant outside the Sanctuary. It died on a weak chuckle, prompting an offhand toss of short hair and the slow moment that followed as he slumped forward, weight in his heels. Ah. I cut it...
France was miserable, in all honesty. He wanted to see a familiar face and hear reassuring words with the promise of home, sleep that left him replenished, not exhausted like he felt now. The green glass of the bottle felt cool against his forehead. In an instant he made a choice, to release that glory-made-drink from its confines that his cherished people had slaved over, back in Champagne, back in the fields with this very moment in mind-- France sat straight, bottle cradled in his lap and forced his thumb under and against the twisted wire of the wire cage just beneath that foil covering, wrenching it loose, then his palm swiftly, damp with sweat, on the cork. He gripped, twisted-
And the pillar of white foam that burst out looked more beautiful than anything France had seen for a long time. Even as he rescued the precious liquid from spilling on the floor (bubbles were fine, that was part of the celebration) by standing the bottle on a lounge table, he stood watching the pale, pooling drink shining off surfaces, bubbles dissipating... He realised something. It was unclear and it probably made more sense to one under the influence of this drink, but it was there.
Laughter welled up in him again, stronger this time. It overtook his chest, cheerful, hearty laughs until he thought he would burst, until he simply had to remove his jacket and unbutton his shirt to let it loose, leaving both garments discarded on the carpet as he left his seat and walked forward through the lobby. The scent of new year, white wine, filled the room and hung on his person- a grin hung on his lips, France shrugged his shoulders and flexed his fingers, chuckling to himself, a greeting for the whole damned facility and the entire world.
"Happy New Year, darlings~"
What: Oho? Midnight, France is looking for some fun. But mostly a wonderful celebratory rampage.
When: 31st December, late night.
Where: Everywhere; starting off in the lobby, but there are threads for each wing/area. :D
Warning: France being himself. PG-13, may rise.
Note: So this is a late late late was-due-a-while-ago RAMPAGE. Am putting up a separate thread for the different parts of the Sanctuary, just like the Hallowe'en log, of which you are free to leap into at whatever time should you want a bit of the action! And I do mean that in the most literal of ways. ♥ Happy New Year, all.
"Ready for the new year, eh?"
None of the lobby furniture replied, of course, but the crowds of France's mind cheered without hesitation. He saw them all; an underground group let out into the open, a frosty field of relaxed soldiers, perhaps a filled home of distant and long-lost relatives, or a small family gathered around a dinner table, waiting for those twelve bongs of midnight and the pop of the cork.
Miles away. And years away, it felt, from his own liberty. France brought the bottle to his lips again- the cork of the champagne was wrapped, still, but he picked at the golden foil with a canine nonetheless- let out a heavy breath and slung himself further back into an armchair. There were meant to be celebrations going on, weren't there? Why was he alone in the lobby? "Really, now, you guys are too soft..." he murmured out with barely-moving lips. As if he had the effort.
1946, he was entering. Six years ago, he had practically been besieged and held like a prisoner. Six years later, he was still imprisoned, although legal documents said otherwise and his home was free of foreign wrath once more. Blue eyes darted to the clock in the room. Still the hour hand lay between XI and XII, no matter how long he gazed at it longingly, as though beckoning a lover wordlessly to his bedside.
"And all alone! Strange, n'est-ce-pas?" The laughter bubbled out of him, aimed at nobody, least of all anybody in the Sanctuary, or, dare he think it, his correspondant outside the Sanctuary. It died on a weak chuckle, prompting an offhand toss of short hair and the slow moment that followed as he slumped forward, weight in his heels. Ah. I cut it...
France was miserable, in all honesty. He wanted to see a familiar face and hear reassuring words with the promise of home, sleep that left him replenished, not exhausted like he felt now. The green glass of the bottle felt cool against his forehead. In an instant he made a choice, to release that glory-made-drink from its confines that his cherished people had slaved over, back in Champagne, back in the fields with this very moment in mind-- France sat straight, bottle cradled in his lap and forced his thumb under and against the twisted wire of the wire cage just beneath that foil covering, wrenching it loose, then his palm swiftly, damp with sweat, on the cork. He gripped, twisted-
And the pillar of white foam that burst out looked more beautiful than anything France had seen for a long time. Even as he rescued the precious liquid from spilling on the floor (bubbles were fine, that was part of the celebration) by standing the bottle on a lounge table, he stood watching the pale, pooling drink shining off surfaces, bubbles dissipating... He realised something. It was unclear and it probably made more sense to one under the influence of this drink, but it was there.
Laughter welled up in him again, stronger this time. It overtook his chest, cheerful, hearty laughs until he thought he would burst, until he simply had to remove his jacket and unbutton his shirt to let it loose, leaving both garments discarded on the carpet as he left his seat and walked forward through the lobby. The scent of new year, white wine, filled the room and hung on his person- a grin hung on his lips, France shrugged his shoulders and flexed his fingers, chuckling to himself, a greeting for the whole damned facility and the entire world.
"Happy New Year, darlings~"