[OOC: Summoning the Conquistador]
Such an appropriate icon for this post. XD Anyway~ so this is just something I wrote down. It's not yet done and it didn't come out like I thought it would. I actually thought it'd be funny, kinda, but then Antonio decided to go Conquistador on me. XD; Anyway, enjoy~
"How the mighty have fallen..."
Spain had heard the words before through the centuries, spoken in several tongues and inflections, after his empire fell. Time had eased the sting of them, as well as his red-hot anger, but the words could still pluck at his heart strings in the wrong ways. Or stir the ashes of resentment, remnants of the fiery rage and hunger that used to roll and hum beneath the surface of his ever-present sunny smile.
And it didn't help that the words were uttered this time by an old foe: the heretic pirate with his Devil's eyes, crooked smirk, and rum-reddened cheeks.
Spain couldn't remember how they ended up like this, with a few rounds of 21st century alcohol and perhaps 500 years worth of unearthed, bitter history between them. It started out as a way to unwind after another world meeting where there was so much talk and yet so little accomplished. He couldn't even remember where their companions had gone and why he suddenly found himself sitting alone with a hated enemy from a past long gone.
Those Devil's eyes were taunting him, daring him, unlike anything he had ever seen in centuries. Gone was the proper and pompous gentleman. Those eyes gleamed much too brightly for the old, tired gentleman. This was the pirate all right, cocky and callous as he had ever seen him, the one who pillaged his grand galleons and sunk his most exalted Armada, Grande y Felicisma Armada...
The sight of the pirate touched something deep within him, something old, dark, and potent that he hadn't felt in years and have almost forgotten. It was the part of him that the bright sun couldn't touch, the dark that enjoyed the bloodshed and excess, the conquering, the plundering, and the purging. It was a heady and dangerous feeling and one that he welcomed. It's the alcohol in his blood, certainly, but at the moment he didn't care.
Those eyes were still boring into him so tauntingly he ached to reach across the table and close his fingers around that lithe, pale neck until he saw red. The pirate would deserve it. Spain didn't like how the heretic was looking at him and with heretics you only did one thing: exterminate them.
"How the mighty have fallen..."
Spain had heard the words before through the centuries, spoken in several tongues and inflections, after his empire fell. Time had eased the sting of them, as well as his red-hot anger, but the words could still pluck at his heart strings in the wrong ways. Or stir the ashes of resentment, remnants of the fiery rage and hunger that used to roll and hum beneath the surface of his ever-present sunny smile.
And it didn't help that the words were uttered this time by an old foe: the heretic pirate with his Devil's eyes, crooked smirk, and rum-reddened cheeks.
Spain couldn't remember how they ended up like this, with a few rounds of 21st century alcohol and perhaps 500 years worth of unearthed, bitter history between them. It started out as a way to unwind after another world meeting where there was so much talk and yet so little accomplished. He couldn't even remember where their companions had gone and why he suddenly found himself sitting alone with a hated enemy from a past long gone.
Those Devil's eyes were taunting him, daring him, unlike anything he had ever seen in centuries. Gone was the proper and pompous gentleman. Those eyes gleamed much too brightly for the old, tired gentleman. This was the pirate all right, cocky and callous as he had ever seen him, the one who pillaged his grand galleons and sunk his most exalted Armada, Grande y Felicisma Armada...
The sight of the pirate touched something deep within him, something old, dark, and potent that he hadn't felt in years and have almost forgotten. It was the part of him that the bright sun couldn't touch, the dark that enjoyed the bloodshed and excess, the conquering, the plundering, and the purging. It was a heady and dangerous feeling and one that he welcomed. It's the alcohol in his blood, certainly, but at the moment he didn't care.
Those eyes were still boring into him so tauntingly he ached to reach across the table and close his fingers around that lithe, pale neck until he saw red. The pirate would deserve it. Spain didn't like how the heretic was looking at him and with heretics you only did one thing: exterminate them.